Theo Bennett didn't believe in ghosts.
Yet, as he stared at the letter on his desk, an unsettling feeling coiled in his chest. The words were his—his handwriting, his signature—but he had no memory of ever writing them.
And Evelyn Carter—the woman standing in front of him, eyes sharp with accusation—was a complete stranger.
"I've never seen this before in my life." His voice came out calmer than he felt.
Evelyn didn't blink. "That's funny," she said, arms crossing. "Because it has your name on it."
Theo exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Where did you even find this?"
She tapped her fingers against the desk. "It was delivered to my apartment."
He frowned. "Recently?"
"Yesterday."
Theo's jaw tightened. A ten-year-old letter, addressed to her, mysteriously appearing now? It didn't make sense.
"You're sure it wasn't meant for someone else?" he asked.
Evelyn let out a dry laugh. "Well, unless you're secretly in love with another Evelyn Carter living at my exact address, then no. This was meant for me."
He ignored the sarcasm, picking up the letter. The paper was old, slightly yellowed with time. The ink had faded, but the words were undeniably his.
Theo's grip tightened. "I don't write letters."
Evelyn's expression didn't change. "Clearly, you do."
A flicker of irritation sparked in his chest. He didn't have time for this. He was in the middle of negotiating a high-profile book deal, and the last thing he needed was a woman storming into his office, demanding answers to a mystery he didn't even understand.
"Look," he said, setting the letter down. "I don't know what game you think I'm playing, but—"
Evelyn cut him off. "Do I look like I have time for games?"
He studied her. She was poised, dressed in a simple yet elegant white blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose bun, a few strands framing her face. But it was her eyes—fierce, unwavering—that held his attention.
She was serious.
And something about that made his stomach tighten.
"Fine," he said. "Let's say I did write this. Why would I send it to you ten years ago when, as far as I know, we've never met?"
Evelyn hesitated. And that brief flicker of uncertainty told him she wasn't sure either.
Theo ran a hand through his hair. "Do you have any idea how this could have happened?"
She shook her head. "I've never met you before."
Silence stretched between them.
Theo glanced at the letter again, at the words that felt strangely familiar yet completely foreign.
"Maybe in another lifetime, we would have gotten it right."
An ache bloomed in his chest—so sudden, so sharp, it nearly knocked the air out of him.
Evelyn shifted. "There's only one way to figure this out," she said.
Theo raised a brow. "And that is?"
She grabbed the letter from the desk, sliding it back into the envelope. "We retrace its steps."
He blinked. "You want to investigate a decade-old letter?"
She met his gaze. "I want to know why you wrote me a love letter that you don't remember sending."
Her words hung in the air.
Theo should have told her to leave. He had a meeting in twenty minutes. His schedule was packed.
But instead, he found himself saying—
"Fine."
---
Later That Evening
Theo didn't believe in fate.
Coincidences? Sure. Strange occurrences? Maybe. But fate was something people clung to when they needed an excuse for the unexplainable.
Yet, as he stood outside The Hollow Bookstore, waiting for Evelyn, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was missing something important.
She arrived a few minutes later, a coffee cup in hand.
"You came," she said, sounding slightly surprised.
He scoffed. "You didn't give me much of a choice."
Evelyn smirked. "Good. Let's go."
The Hollow Bookstore was old—one of those places that smelled like paper and history. It had been around for decades, though Theo had never set foot inside until now.
Evelyn led the way to the counter, where an elderly woman with silver hair and round glasses sat, flipping through a novel.
"Evening, dears," she greeted. "Looking for something special?"
Evelyn pulled out the letter. "I was hoping you could help us. Do you have any records of letters mailed from this bookstore about ten years ago?"
The woman adjusted her glasses, taking the envelope. Her brows furrowed. "This stationery… it looks familiar."
Theo and Evelyn exchanged a glance.
"You've seen it before?" Theo asked.
The woman nodded. "We used to have a little letter-writing station in the back—a vintage setup where people could write letters, seal them with wax, and mail them. But we stopped it years ago."
Theo's stomach twisted. "Do you have any idea who might have sent this?"
The woman studied the handwriting. Then, after a long pause, she looked up.
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "But if you used our service, we might have an old logbook of names. You're welcome to take a look."
Evelyn shot Theo a triumphant look. "Told you we'd find something."
He ignored her smugness and followed the woman to the back of the store. She pulled an old leather-bound book from a shelf, its pages worn with age.
"This was our customer log," she explained, flipping through the pages. "People used to sign their names when they mailed something."
Theo's pulse quickened as she ran her fingers over the dates. Then—
"There," Evelyn said, pointing.
Theo leaned in.
And there it was, written in ink.
Theo Bennett.
March 25, 2015.
Theo's breath hitched.
Evelyn's voice was quiet but firm. "You wrote that letter."
His hands curled into fists. He couldn't deny it. The proof was right in front of him.
But the problem was—
He had no memory of ever being here.
---
Back at Evelyn's Apartment
Evelyn placed the letter on the coffee table, staring at it like it held the answers to the universe.
Across from her, Theo sat stiffly on the couch, his mind racing.
"I don't understand," he muttered. "Why would I write you a letter when I didn't even know you?"
Evelyn exhaled. "That's what we need to figure out."
Theo leaned back, rubbing a hand down his face. "Maybe this is just a mistake. Maybe there was another Evelyn Carter."
Evelyn's lips pressed together. "Maybe. But the letter came to me. And it sounds… personal."
Personal was an understatement.
Theo didn't want to admit it, but the emotions in that letter—his emotions—felt too raw, too real to be meaningless.
Evelyn suddenly stood. "I have an idea."
He arched a brow. "That's dangerous."
She rolled her eyes. "Come with me."
Before he could protest, she disappeared into another room. When she returned, she held a shoebox filled with old letters and papers.
"I've always kept things that feel important," she explained. "Maybe—just maybe—there's something in here that connects us."
Theo hesitated. Then, with a slow breath, he reached for the box.
Because some part of him—the part that refused to believe in coincidences—was desperate to know the truth.
And if Evelyn was right…
Then this letter was just the beginning.
---
End of Chapter 2