Chapter 4: The Letter in the Floorboards

They hadn’t intended to go inside.

The door to the central building — a crumbling, sun-bleached hall that once served as a social center — had been sealed for years. But Reyden found the latch hidden beneath the warped handle. When it creaked open, he shot her a look that was half challenge, half curiosity.

“After you,” he said.

Elira stepped in first, cautious. The air inside was thick with dust and nostalgia. Light slanted through broken stained-glass panels, casting fractured colors across the warped floorboards.

“This place is a mess,” Reyden said, brushing his hand along the banister. “Looks like it hasn’t seen a broom since the ‘80s.”

“That’s because people stopped coming here when developers started circling,” Elira muttered. “Wonder why.”

They walked slowly, their footsteps echoing. On the far wall hung a series of old photos, their glass cracked but intact. Black-and-white snapshots of smiling couples, art exhibits, speeches. A history of voices that had been silenced by blueprints and buyouts.

Elira ran her fingers along a dusty piano in the corner. “There used to be music here every weekend. Dance nights. Spoken word. This district wasn’t just bricks and wires — it breathed.”

Reyden stood in the center of the room, tilting his head toward the ceiling. “Still does. Just wheezing a little.”

She shot him a glare, but he was already kneeling down near one of the floorboards, peering at a section that looked warped. He pushed at it — and it gave way.

“Wait,” she said. “Careful. You don’t know what’s under—”

But he’d already pulled the board loose.

Beneath it was a folded piece of parchment. Yellowed. Fragile. Tied with twine.

They both stared.

“Is that…?” she whispered.

Reyden gently picked it up and untied the knot.

No dust, no rot. Just age.

He read the front aloud. “If you’re reading this… love didn’t wait.”

Elira’s breath hitched.

He glanced up at her.

They stood like that — close, strangely breathless — in a room full of forgotten echoes, holding a message that felt like it had waited for them.

“Do you think it’s real?” she asked quietly.

He nodded, slow. “Yeah. I do.”

She reached out and took it gently from his hand, unfolding it.

Inside: a short letter, handwritten in ink that had faded to soft sepia.

“To the one who walks this path when I no longer can —

I hope you fight for something. Even if it costs you everything.”Neither of them spoke for a long time.

Outside, the wind shifted, pushing sunlight deeper through the glass.

Elira finally looked at Reyden and said, “This doesn’t go in your proposal deck.”

He smirked. “Didn’t plan on it.”

And for once, she didn’t feel like the enemy.

Just a witness to something they might not understand yet.

But maybe… would.

Elira couldn’t sleep.

She lay on the worn linen of her studio apartment’s bed, city lights bleeding in through the blinds. Her ceiling fan spun a soft rhythm overhead, but her thoughts weren’t following its pace. They were spiraling—backward, forward, inward.

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