The Letter That Never Came

Amaka sat outside her small house as the sun dropped behind the trees. The old mailbox leaned on the corner while Amaka starred at it for a while.

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She had been waiting for twenty years.

It was her birthday again. Every year, she told herself she wouldn’t wait. She wouldn’t sit outside. She wouldn’t listen for the postman’s motorcycle. But every year, she did. Hope always pulled her back.

In her hand, she held a scarf. It was old now, faded with time. Daniel had given it to her on their last night together.

She could still see it clearly. The mango tree. The stars. His hand holding hers. His voice steady when he said, “Wait for me, Amaka. I will write. I will come back.”

She had believed him. She had promised herself she would wait.

But the letter never came.

The calendar pages of days turned into months, and months turned into years. She’d built a world around herself, but Daniel had never crossed her mind; he’d always been there and in moments, in birthdays that came one after another.

Her mother’s whisper found its echo in her own mind. “Hope is a blessing and a curse.” The truth was now apparent to her. It had brought her life and survival but condemned her to an eternity of the past.

Long and lonely, the road outside her house was. She sighed and stood to go in. Then she heard.
The sound of a motorcycle engine.

Her heart jumped. The sound grew louder until it stopped at her gate.

The postman. At this hour?

When he came down from his motorcycle, his clothes looks dirty and dusty and he was holding a small envelope. His eyes dropped as he walked toward her.
“This came today,” he said softly.

Amaka reached out with shaking hands. She took the envelope, it looks old and rough, she saw her name written on it with using calligraphy.

Daniel’s handwriting.

Her breath caught. She almost dropped it.

The postman hesitated. “They found it in an old bag at the depot. Must have been lost for a long time.” He turned back and left immediately.

Amaka went and sit on the bench staring at the letter. She paused for sometime without opening it. Her hands were shaking. Finally, she tore it gently.

Inside, a single sheet of paper. Faded ink, words clear.

“My dearest Amaka,

Once you read this, I hope to be back standing next to you. Working every day, saving every penny. In a short time, I will return home. Please wait for me. You’re my motivation.”

The tears from her eye makes the words on the letter look blurred to her, she bled the letter to her chest crying. Daniel had written. He had not forgotten. He had kept his promise.

The winds blows the tree to and fro, the night feels colder. At a point it appears to her eyes as if she is seeing her beside and mango tree, smiling as usual. Before she could blink her eye, the imagination was gone.

Inside her, hope and grief collided. She wanted to believe another letter would come. She wanted to imagine him still alive, still on his way back. But deep inside, she knew. Too much time had passed.

Still, his words lit something inside her. saying “Please wait for me.”

She whispered into the night, “I waited, Daniel. I waited.”

The silence answered her. The mailbox stood open. Empty again.

Amaka did not sleep a wink all night. She had been sitting with the letter in her lap, the lamp burning low. She thought of the girl she used to be, the one who believed that love could survive oceans and years. She counted all the birthdays spent waiting.

And she also thought of Daniel. His laughter. His kindness. The way he made her feel like the center of the world.

When the first light woke her, she found she could not sleep anymore. She soaked the scarf in the river and wrapped his letter in it. A small hole she dug under the mango tree, its roots such good cover. Underneath she placed the scarf and letter, covering them with soil.

She used a low voice as she whispered, “Rest here, Daniel. With me.”

The wind rustled the leaves as if in reply.

For the first time in many years, she stopped looking at the mailbox. She turned toward the rising sun. Her steps were slow, but they felt lighter something between sorrow and peace.

The letter had finally come. Not in time, but in truth.

And that was enough.