Chapter 1
The sun was about to set. Birds were flying back to their nests. There’s a certain magic in dusk, the kind that presses sadness into your bones, making you feel everything a little too deeply. Life had held no purpose lately. I felt like giving up every day. My mind was drained, my body felt no better, and existing felt heavier than walking uphill with stones in my shoes. My therapist suggested something simple:
“Go to a peaceful place. Write letters about your pain. Leave them there. Come back.”
I hadn’t believed her, but what I had to lose anymore now.
So I started climbing the mountain. The hike was tiring. I visited this spot often, yet somehow my physical strength felt as exhausted as my mind. I let out a dry chuckle at the thought. After fifteen minutes, I reached the top. I chose a corner, sat down, took out my pen and paper, and wrote:
“Life is bitter. I don’t want to exist. I wish I could die. It will never get better. I just want the pain to stop forever. I want a sleep so deep that no one can wake me. Why is this happening to me? Why do I have to live?”
Tears fell onto the paper and left small circles on the ink. My breathing grew heavier. I folded the letter, put it aside, and finally let myself break down. Fifteen minutes of crying felt like hours.
Eventually, I wiped my face. Night was approaching. Time to go home. Halfway down the mountain, I realized I had left the letter behind, but I was too tired to climb back. “Who cares about jumbled thoughts anyway,” I mumbled and continued walking. Surprisingly, the therapist had been right. I felt a little lighter, maybe because the pain had finally left my body in the form of tears.
The next day at university, test results came out. I didn’t score much. It felt like another failure added to a long list — enough to break me all over again. So after class, I went straight to the mountain. At the top, I saw my paper lying there. I picked it up and smiled bitterly.
“Who comes here other than me? Everyone else is living their perfect little lives,” I muttered. But when I opened it — it wasn’t my handwriting.
The writing was messy, almost childish:
“My dear,
I don’t know who you are, but you seem very upset. I hope things get better for you. Life is beautiful. You asked for reasons to live — here are some: rainbows, candies, marshmallows, cats, flowers and story books. There are many more. Please don’t be sad. I’m cheering for you. I wish you never cry.”
I couldn’t help but smile. It was definitely a little kid. Maybe she came with her parents, saw my letter, and wrote back.
“At least there’s some kindness left,” I whispered.
I sat down again and wrote:
“Anything that can go wrong is going wrong in my life. I didn’t even score well today. How will I ever become a doctor? I’m failing at every step. I’m not a good daughter, friend, partner I’m nothing.”
As I placed the letter down, a breeze blew and carried it away. I didn’t chase it. I just watched the birds, at least they were free, unlike me.
The next evening, I climbed again. To my surprise, a new letter was waiting:
“OMG you’re becoming a doctor? That’s my dream too! You’re so lucky. I know your grades upset you but trust me, you’re gonna be a good doctor. I have faith in you. And you ARE a good person. You’re trying to heal and I’m proud of you for it .”
A child having so much belief in me felt unreal.
So I wrote back:
“You’re a kid right now. You don’t know how cruel life can get. For you, everything is candies and flowers. But life isn’t like that. Life is thorns, taunts, misery. I hope you never have to see that.”
And I left it there.
The next day:
“Yes, life can be bitter. But you’re kind and soft , someone will value you. I also cry when my toy breaks, but I always get a better one later. Maybe you will too.It’s okay to cry. Life is still beautiful. You can still see rainbows, smell flowers, eat candies. You can still have good moments even on bad days.”
And like that, our letters continued. Mine were heavy, full of sorrow. Hers were full of hope, warmth, and sunlight. Somehow, her optimism began filling the cracks inside me. I started healing. I started valuing myself. I started believing I deserved happiness too.
But there was something strange — her likes, her way of thinking, her habits... they were all so familiar. A year and a half passed. One day, I gathered courage and asked her if we could meet. She refused. Bluntly.
It hurt. Why wouldn’t she meet me? So I asked for a picture. I threatened, jokingly but desperately, that I wouldn’t write again if she didn’t. The next day, with my heart racing, I rushed to the mountain. A letter and an envelope waited for me.
The letter said:
“Dear Lara,
It was a long journey with you. I wish I could stay longer, but this is the end. I won’t be answering anymore. You’ve always been strong, you just never knew it. I’m glad you found life worth living again. We’re like dawn and dusk. Overlapping, but never meeting. But I’ll always be by your side. And remember, I’ll always be proud of you.”
My hands trembled as I opened the envelope. A photograph slipped out. A child with hope in her eyes. A wide smile.A face I knew better than anyone.
It was me!
My own childhood picture.
