A series within The Chai Club offering a space for anonymous letters — tender, reflective, and unfiltered. An open archive of voices that long to be heard.
I never got to say goodbye. The room was full, yet somehow, I’ve never felt more alone. If you’re out there, know this — I carry your silence like an heirloom. I still replay our last conversation over and over in my mind, hoping to catch a trace of what you were trying to say, but couldn't. And now I write to you here, not to fill the silence, but to honour it.
Read moreSometimes I forget the sound of your laugh. And that terrifies me. Not because I don’t want to remember — but because I know memory isn’t meant to be permanent. Only cherished. What haunts me isn’t the forgetting, it’s the realization that I’m the only one left remembering. That this tender thread between us lives only in me now, fraying at the edges.
Read moreI wrote this under the amber light of a borrowed desk lamp, listening to a playlist you’d probably hate. But this letter isn’t for you. It’s for the version of you I still love. The one who held my gaze too long in the stairwell. The one who left mid-sentence and took the warmth of the evening with him. I write because I never did say what I should have. And maybe that’s what this space is for.
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