Episode 2

One morning, as she walked along the shore, she noticed something glinting in the sand. A glass bottle, its surface scratched and worn by the waves. Her heart raced as she knelt to pick it up. Inside was a letter, the paper crumpled and damp.

Her hands trembled as she pulled it out and unfolded it.

*Isla,

I’m sorry. I wanted to come back to you more than anything, but life doesn’t always go the way we want it to. I’ve been sick for a while now. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to remember me like this.

Your letters were my anchor, my reminder of a place where I once felt free. I carried them with me everywhere, and when things got hard, your words reminded me of the summer we shared—the laughter, the dreams, the stars. You gave me hope when I had none left.

I wanted to see you again, to tell you how much you’ve meant to me, but the sea is the only way I can reach you now. Please forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye, one last time.

You’ll always be my brightest star.

—Leo*

The letter slipped from her fingers, carried away by the wind.

Isla sank to her knees, the waves lapping at her ankles, her chest heaving with silent sobs. She clutched the bottle to her chest, feeling the weight of everything she had lost.

The sea had carried her letters to him, but it hadn’t brought him back. It had returned only his words, a fragile echo of what could have been.

For hours, she sat on the shore, the tide creeping closer, her gaze fixed on the horizon. She thought of Leo’s smile, his laugh, the dreams he had shared with her. And then she thought of the letters—every one of them a piece of her heart that she had sent to him, never knowing he needed them as much as she had.

When the sun finally set, Isla rose to her feet, clutching the letter tightly. She walked to the edge of the water and stared out at the endless expanse of waves.

“I’ll keep writing,” she whispered to the wind. “I’ll always write to you.”

And with that, she tossed the bottle back into the sea, watching as it drifted away, carried by the current to a place she could never follow.

The cove was silent, but Isla could still hear his voice in the roar of the waves, in the whispers of the wind. And though the sea had taken him from her, it was the only place she felt close to him.

She never stopped writing.

And the sea, infinite and mysterious, never stopped listening. Months turned into years, but Isla kept her promise. She continued to visit the cove, writing letters to Leo and casting them into the sea. Each letter carried a piece of her heart—a memory of their summer, a confession of her lingering love, or a dream she wished she could have shared with him. The act of writing, of sending her words into the vast unknown, became her solace.

The townspeople often whispered about her. Some thought she was eccentric, a girl trapped in the past, while others admired her devotion. Isla didn’t care what they said. The cove was her sanctuary, and the sea was her confidant.

One chilly spring morning, Isla walked to the shore, her boots crunching over the damp sand. The cove was quiet, the sky a pale gray, and the tide lapped gently at her feet. She sat on her favorite rock and pulled out a letter she had written the night before.

Dear Leo,

The stars were bright last night. I traced constellations with my finger and thought of you. I wonder if you ever knew how much you meant to me, how much you still mean to me. I hope, wherever you are, you feel at peace. I hope you know you’re still my brightest star.

She folded the paper, tucked it into a new glass bottle, and sealed it with wax. As she stood to throw it into the waves, a soft sound caught her attention.

The wind carried a faint melody, a hum that seemed to rise from the ocean itself. Isla froze, her heart pounding. It wasn’t the first time she had imagined hearing his voice in the wind or his laughter in the waves. She closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her.

When she opened them again, something unusual caught her eye—a cluster of bottles, scattered across the sand where the tide had receded. She walked toward them, her breath hitching.

Each bottle held a piece of paper inside. With shaking hands, she picked up the first one and uncorked it.

Isla,

I don’t know how, but I feel your words. They reach me, even here. Keep writing. I’m listening.

She opened the next bottle, and then another. Each letter was short but unmistakably his.

You’re stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.

I think of you every time I see the stars.

I’ll always be here, in the wind and the waves. You’ll never be alone.

The final bottle held a letter that made her knees buckle.

Isla,

This is my last message. I can feel myself fading, but I need you to know one thing: you gave my life meaning. You were the light that guided me home. I’ll always be with you, in the place where the sea meets the sky.

Tears blurred her vision as she clutched the letters to her chest. The sea had returned his words, a final gift from the boy she had loved and lost.

From that day on, Isla wrote not just for Leo but for herself. She told him about the books she read, the sunsets she watched, and the quiet moments she spent by the shore. She began to live, carrying him with her in everything she did.

Years later, when Isla was an old woman, the townspeople often saw her sitting by the cove, a notebook in her lap and a faraway look in her eyes. They said she had the wisdom of someone who had lived a hundred lives, and a heart that was as deep as the sea.

And when she was gone, the letters she had written washed ashore, scattered like whispers across the sand.

The sea, infinite and mysterious, held them all—her words, her love, her story.

And it carried her, just as it had carried him, to a place where dreams come to rest.

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