If I Could Rewrite Love, Would It Still Hurt This Way? | A Jhocey AU

Jules,

I used to tell myself that silence was the kinder choice. That if I stayed quiet long enough, the questions you had, the ones I never answered, would fade. I hoped time would make them irrelevant, that you would eventually stop wondering about the things I was too much of a coward to say.

But time didn’t erase anything, did it? Not for you, and not for me.

I don’t know if you ever needed these words, or if you stopped waiting for them long ago. I don’t even know if this letter is for you or for me. Maybe both. Maybe it’s my way of making peace with the parts of me that never stopped carrying you.

All I know is, you deserved the truth. And I should have given it to you sooner.

—Sam

I don’t know if this letter is for you or for me. Maybe both.

Jules,

I loved you. I never said it enough, not in the way that mattered. But I did.

Leaving didn’t mean I stopped. It didn’t mean I wanted to hurt you. I just didn’t know how to stay without losing myself in the process. And maybe that sounds like an excuse. Maybe it is. But it’s the truth, too.

I was scared. Of being in love, of belonging to someone in a way that made me feel like I had no control. I was terrified of watching us become something predictable, of waking up one day and realizing I had built a life that didn’t feel like mine.

But mostly, I was scared of losing you before you could lose me.

And I know now—I lost you anyway.

—Sam

I thought I was running toward something. But maybe I was just running away.

Jules,

I used to wonder if you hated me. If you ever looked at the life we had and wished you could erase it.

I think I was afraid to know the answer.

But then, I read your letters.

I don’t know if you ever wanted me to, but I did. And I think I finally understand. You never stopped caring even when you had every reason to. You held on, even when I made it impossible.

Maybe that’s why it hurts so much to write this. Because I realize now—I wasn’t the one who was left behind. I was the one who walked away.

—Sam

I read your letters. I don’t know if you ever wanted me to, but I did.

Jules,

There were nights I almost called you.

Moments when the weight of missing you became unbearable, when I thought that maybe, just maybe, you’d pick up, and we could pretend that none of this ever happened.

But I never dialed your number.

Because I knew you had already done the hardest thing which is letting me go. And what right did I have to ask you to look back?

Still, I wonder… did you feel it? The space I left behind? The silence I drowned in?

Because even when I tried to move forward, I kept looking back.

—Sam

Even when I tried to move forward, I kept looking back.

Jules,

You became someone without me. Someone stronger, someone whole.

And I think that’s what scared me the most. The idea that maybe, I was never necessary to your story. Maybe I was just a chapter, one you closed, one you outgrew.

I wanted to be part of the person you became. But I had to accept that I wasn’t meant to be. That you were always going to be okay, whether I was there or not.

And maybe… that’s okay. Maybe that’s how it was always supposed to be.

—Sam

You were always going to be okay. I just didn’t want to believe you would be okay without me.

Jules,

I won’t ask for another chance. I won’t ask you to look back, to open the door I closed all those years ago.

Instead, I’ll just say this: Thank you.

For loving me. For waiting for me. For letting me go when I didn’t deserve the kindness of your patience.

Maybe some things don’t need an ending, only an understanding.

So if this is the last letter—if this is the last time my words ever reach you—I just want you to know: I see you. I see the life you built, the person you became. And I am grateful, even from a distance, to have been part of your story.

If we meet again, I hope it’s in a way that doesn’t hurt.

—Sam

If we meet again, I hope it’s in a way that doesn’t hurt.