Second Letter

My Dear Stranger,

I don’t know how to explain this feeling.

I don’t even understand it myself.

All I know is—I feel you.

This letter may never reach you.

Perhaps not in this lifetime.

Still, it insists on being written.

My Dear Stranger,

Who are you, really?

You don’t know my name. Just as I don’t know yours.

We are two unknowns, passing through the same quiet orbit.

And yet—somewhere in the past, I believe I saw you.

Years ago. Only for a second. Long enough for you to steal my attention without trying.

Back then, I turned away.

I dismissed the feeling.

I walked forward and never looked back.

Or so I thought.

Until a few days ago.

Without warning, without preparation, I saw you again.

And this time, you didn’t just catch my eyes—

You reached my heart and whispered something about a future I didn’t know I was still hoping for.

This time, I chose to stay.

Even if only as a stranger, standing beside another stranger.

My Dear Stranger,

I don’t know how, but I feel you.

I feel your strength—the kind that doesn’t ask to be admired.

I feel the battles you survived quietly.

The heartbreaks you carried without witnesses.

I know you tried to be everything for everyone.

I know you placed other people’s needs above your own dreams.

I know how carefully you hid your vulnerability,

how you never allowed your tears to be seen.

So instead, you smiled.

You said you were fine.

You convinced the world that nothing hurt you.

My Dear Stranger,

I feel how tired you are from pretending you are not tired.

You buried everything deep inside—

in the darkest chambers of your heart, so well hidden that no one ever thought to look there.

Your pain.

Your disappointments.

Your fears.

Your trauma.

Your doubts.

Your hope.

Your dreams.

Your feelings.

All of it—quietly carried. Alone.

My Dear Stranger,

I don’t know how, but I see you.

Even when no tears fall from your eyes,

I hear you crying—loudly, endlessly,

from somewhere much deeper.

Those tears don’t belong on your face.

They fall from your heart.

And they are the loudest tears I have ever heard.

The kind that breaks you slowly.

The kind that changes you without permission.

The kind that hardens your heart until you forget how to feel, how to live.

My Dear Stranger,

I don’t know why,

but I care deeply about your happiness.

You were not born to be perfect.

You were born to be real.

You were meant to become you—not the version your family expected,

not the version your friends needed, not the version the world demanded.

You were born to be happy.

To find your own fairy tale.

To define your own “perfect.”

My Dear Stranger,

From the moment I saw you,

I knew my life would never be the same.

Whatever happens next, I will carry this knowing with me.

I hope that one day you will see yourself the way I see you.

That you will feel, even for a moment, what I feel when I look at you.

You are already enough.

You are beautifully complete—even in your imperfections.

With quiet love,

from your stranger,

Vie