Chapter 16 - The Letters We Never Sent

Chapter 16: The Letters We Never Sent

It started with a dare.

They were sprawled across Crystal’s living room one rainy Sunday afternoon. The original plan had been board games. But somewhere between snacks, a thunderstorm, and too much Spotify nostalgia, the conversation had drifted into the territory of “what would you say to your younger self?”

Crystal had grabbed a pen first.

“Okay,” she said, waving it like a wand, “everyone writes a letter. To anyone. Yourself, someone in ABIX, someone you lost, someone you love—doesn’t matter. No names. No expectations. Just write.”

Isabelle raised a brow. “Like a school assignment?”

“Exactly,” Crystal said. “Except emotional damage is encouraged.”

Ivan groaned. “We’re trauma bonding again, aren’t we.”

“Shut up and take a pen.”

Even Aleem didn’t protest.

One Hour Later

The room was quiet in that strange, almost holy way. Pens scratched softly against paper. The only other sound was rain tapping the window, steady and forgiving.

Each of them filled a single page.

No one shared what they wrote.

Not at first.

They folded their letters and dropped them into an old shoebox Crystal found under her bed.

“No pressure to read them out,” she said. “We keep the box closed until we’re ready. Or maybe forever.”

But something about it felt sacred.

And sacred things tend to take root.

Letter I: Unfolded Months Later – From Isabelle

It was weeks after the dare, during a solo study session, that Isabelle reopened the box. Not to read everyone’s, just her own. She hadn’t remembered what she wrote. But when her eyes traced the words, her throat tightened.

Dear Me,

You try so hard to be soft and strong at the same time. You carry everyone else’s weight like it’s your own. But you forget—you’re allowed to rest too.

One day, someone will say “I see you,” and mean it. Until then, I see you. And I’m proud of how you keep going.

Love, The you who is finally learning to breathe

She folded it back carefully. Didn’t cry.

But felt something unstick inside her.

Letter II: Read by Ivan – Alone, Post-Graduation

Months after his graduation, Ivan was sitting alone in his studio flat. The first few months of working life had been… hollow. Not bad. Just routine. Wake, commute, code, repeat.

He found the letter he had written stuffed in the side pocket of his laptop bag.

To the friend I never said it to:

Thank you for never forcing me to speak. Thank you for understanding the silences. There were days I was barely holding on, and all you did was sit beside me. That was enough.

I don’t say it often. But I value you more than I know how to show.

Maybe one day I’ll tell you this. Maybe this letter is enough.

He never said who it was to.

But when he saw Aleem’s name pop up in the group chat later that night, he replied faster than usual.

Letter III: From Crystal – Shared out loud

“I want to read mine.”

They were back at NTU for a random campus visit—something about nostalgia and cheap mala. The shoebox had somehow made its way into Crystal’s tote.

They sat under the same tree near the sports hall. The one with the bench. The one from Chapter One.

She pulled out her letter, unfolded it, and read aloud:

To ABIX—

I was the loud one. The glue. The ‘chaotic sunshine’ character. But sometimes I worried… if I went quiet, would you all still see me?

The answer is yes. You saw me through breakdowns I disguised as jokes. You stayed when I didn’t have the energy to be the life of the group.

You gave me space to fall apart. And love to come back whole.

Thank you. For loving all the versions of me.

By the time she finished, no one clapped. No one joked.

Isabelle was already crying.

Aleem passed her a tissue.

Ivan looked away—but only to blink faster.

Letter IV: Aleem’s – Still Unread

Aleem never opened his.

Not yet.

He kept it folded in his wallet, tucked behind his staff pass.

Sometimes he’d touch it with his thumb while waiting for the MRT. Sometimes, when the work stress hit too hard or Hana’s messages got too quiet, he’d take it out, just to feel the weight of it.

But he hadn’t read it yet.

Because some truths… take time.

ABIX never made the letter-writing a ritual. They never repeated the exercise. But that single box—old, slightly crushed, full of messy folds and ballpoint ink—remained a quiet monument in Crystal’s room.

A reminder that even when they grew apart or grew up, even when time blurred the daily texts and scattered their schedules…

They still had the words.

And sometimes, words were enough.