Months passed our beautiful summer just ended like a flash and now we're freshmen college students. College didn't feel real at first. Not because it was hard. Honestly, the classes were okay. Some boring lectures, some professors who talked too fast, and a lot of group projects where two people did all the work (and yes, I was one of the two). But mostly, it didn't feel real because everything else felt the same. Same town. Same weather. Same streets. Same late-night snacks from that one sari-sari store that never closed.
Clarisse was still there—loud as ever, full of energy, like a storm that never stopped moving. She talked fast, laughed louder, and didn't seem to have an off button. It didn't matter where we were—school, the diner, even just walking down the street—she made everything feel like a scene from a movie. People noticed her, and somehow, I always ended up in the middle of it.
She had this habit of stealing my fries. Every time. She didn't even ask anymore. She'd just reach over, grab a handful, and smile like it was perfectly normal. Like we shared everything—our food, our thoughts, even our money. I'd act annoyed, but I never really minded. It was just how we were. She'd take my fries, and I'd roll my eyes, and somehow that said more than words ever could.
It was strange, but kind of perfect. She made the world feel less boring. More alive. Even when she drove me crazy, I couldn't imagine her not being there.
We went to the same school for college, and even though we didn't have all the same classes, we saw each other every day. Met up in between lectures. Shared notes. Argued over which milk tea place was better (I was right, she was wrong). Life was... steady. Weirdly peaceful.
Then one afternoon, as I was halfway through my second siomai rice of the day, my phone buzzed.
It was Amethyst. We messaged now and then. A few memes. Short updates. Some nights she'd send voice notes, tired and dreamy, talking about her art and her classes, and I'd lie in bed listening like the past hadn't ended.
Her name popping up still gave me that tiny kick in the chest, like my heart forgot to moved on.
Amethyst: "Hey. You free?"
I wiped my hands on a tissue and typed back:
Me: "Always. What's up?"
She called. Not texted. Not a voice memo. An actual call.
That was the first sign that something was wrong.
"Hey," I said, trying not to sound too surprised.
"Hi," she said. Her voice was soft. Tired. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything."
"No. What's going on?"
She was quiet for a second. Then she said, "We broke up."
I didn't ask who it was. I already knew.
"Oh," I said and it hurts. "Amethyst… I'm really sorry."
"It's okay," she said. "It was going to happen eventually. I just… didn't think it would be this soon."
I waited.
"You know what hurts the most?" she said after a moment. "He didn't even fight for it. Just said 'I guess we're done then' and left."
"That sucks," I said. "Like, majorly. That's—wow."
"Yeah," she laughed, bitter. "It's okay to say he's trash." As I am faking a smile behind the call.
"I wasn't gonna say trash. I was thinking more like... compost."
She snorted. "You're so stupid."
"You called me for emotional support, not smart words."
"Fair."
There was silence after that. Not awkward. Just… heavy. Like the kind of silence that holds a lot of things it doesn't know how to say.
Then she said, "I'm trying to move on. Like actually move on."
"That's good," I said, unsure where this was going.
"So... I met someone."
"Oh." There it was. A single sentence that knocked the air out of my lungs.
"Not like that," she said quickly. "I mean, I don't know if I like him. Yet. He's just... nice. And kind. And funny. But I don't want to mess it up by saying something stupid. So... I thought maybe you could help."
"Help with what?"
She hesitated. "Help me write a letter."
My stomach dropped. "A letter?"
"Yeah. You wrote one for me once, remember?"
I remembered. Of course I remembered.
"I want it to be sweet. But not desperate. Like, casual but deep, you know?"
"Casual but deep," I repeated. "Sure. No pressure or anything."
"Come on, Nathan," she said, voice hopeful. "You're good with words."
Yeah, but I'm supposed to be for you, I wanted to say.
Instead, I swallowed whatever that weird ache was and said, "Okay. Let's write."
---
That night, I sat at my desk and opened a blank doc.
Clarisse peeked over my shoulder. "You doing homework?"
"No," I said. "Helping Amethyst write a love letter."
Her face froze. "A love letter? For you?"
"No. For someone else."
She blinked. "Oh."
There was a pause. Then she pulled a chair and sat beside me.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," I lied.
She didn't push. Just said, "Let me know if you want help making it sound less like a sad poem."
---
The first draft was rough.
"Hey, I think you're cool and you make me laugh and I want to know you better."
It sounded like something from a seventh-grade slam book.
I kept deleting and retyping, trying not to overthink every word. Clarisse sat next to me the whole time, eating chips and throwing in suggestions.
"Add something personal," she said. "Something only she would say."
"She?" I asked.
"Well, I assumed—" She blinked. "Wait. Is the guy she likes… a guy?"
"Yeah."
"Oh. Okay. Cool."
She said it like it didn't bother her, but I saw the tiny wrinkle in her brow.
"Anyway," she said, voice brighter, "just make it honest. That's what matters."
We finally ended up with something that felt… right.
---
Dear You,
I don't know how to say this without sounding like a cheesey, but here goes: I like talking to you. I like the way you laugh at dumb jokes and how you make serious things feel a little less heavy.
I'm still figuring myself out. I don't have all the right words. But I think there's something here worth trying for.
If you feel the same, let's see where this goes. And if not, thanks for being kind anyway.
— A
---
"Wow," Clarisse said, reading it. "That's actually pretty solid."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. It's soft. Brave. But not clingy. Ten out of ten."
I sent it to Amethyst.
I laughed.
Then set my phone down.
And cried a little.
Not because I wanted her.
But because some part of me had to mourn the version of us that never made it.
She replied with a heart emoji and the words: "You're the best. Seriously."
I didn't reply right away. Just stared at the screen, feeling everything and nothing.
---
Later that night, Clarisse texted me:
Clarisse: "Wanna go out for milk tea? My treat."
Me: "Only if you're buying pearls this time."
Clarisse: "Deal. And you're paying for fries."
When we met up, she handed me my drink without saying much. We just sat on the curb outside the shop, watching cars go by.
"You okay?" she asked after a while.
"Yeah," I said. "Just weird, you know? Helping someone you used to love… fall for someone else."
She nodded slowly. "You still love her?"
I didn't answer right away.
"I don't think so," I finally said. "Not the way I used to. It's like... she's part of my story, but not the ending."
Clarisse took a long sip of her drink. "That's poetic. Proud of you, spoon boy."
"Fork. I've upgraded."
She bumped her shoulder against mine. "You're a spork now. Versatile and emotionally available."
We both laughed.
---
A week later, Amethyst messaged me again.
Amethyst: "He smiled when he read it. Said he felt the same. We're getting coffee this weekend."
I stared at the message for a long time.
Then I typed: "I'm happy for you."
And I meant it.
Not in a fake, I'm-trying-to-be-nice way. But in a quiet, honest kind of way.
Because maybe this was how healing worked.
Not with big speeches or dramatic tears.
But in helping someone you care about take their next step—even if it's not toward you.
---
That night, Clarisse said, "We should start a new list."
"A heartbreak list?"
"No," she grinned. "A healing list."
So we wrote:
Nathan and Clarisse's Healing Plan:
1. Cry when it hurts. No shame.
2. Say the things out loud—even the dumb feelings.
3. Keep showing up. For each other. For yourself.
4. Find new songs that don't remind you of old people.
5. Fall in love again, only if it feels safe and soft.
6. Remember: You were always enough.
She looked at me. "Number six is yours."
I smiled. "I'll try to believe it."
"You will," she said. "And if not, I'll remind you. Every single day."
And that was the thing about Clarisse.
She didn't fix you.
She just stayed until you learned how to fix yourself.
---
Sometimes, the people we write letters for don't write back.
Sometimes, they give our words to someone else.
But if we're lucky, there's someone beside us, helping us turn heartbreak into healing.
One call. One message. One list at a time.