To the Us Who Found Our Way Back
Jules,
I used to think love was something you had to hold onto tightly. That if you loosened your grip, even just a little, it would slip through your fingers. I spent so much time trying to hold us together that I didn’t realize love was never meant to be a desperate grasp, it was meant to be an open hand.
I wish I had known that back then. I wish I had been brave enough to tell you that leaving wasn’t about not loving you, it was about not knowing how to love myself in the life we were building. You were certain. I was terrified. And instead of standing in that fear and figuring it out, I ran.
For years, I told myself I made the right choice. That leaving was necessary. That I needed time and space to become whoever I was supposed to be. But time only proved one thing: I could be in a thousand places, surrounded by a thousand new experiences, and I would still look for you in all of them.
I don’t know if this letter is an apology, or just an offering of truth. I don’t know if it will find you at the right moment, or if you’ve already moved past the versions of us that I still hold onto. But if love is a choice, Jules—then I want you to know that I never really stopped choosing you.
Wherever you are, whatever life looks like for you now, I just hope you’re happy.
And if there’s still a place for me somewhere in your story—then maybe, just maybe, love is about finding our way back.
-Sam
I never really left, you know. I was just waiting for the right time to come back.
—S.✰
Jules,
There you are.
I don’t know why I expected you to be different, as if time would change the way I saw you. But you’re still you. And I’m still me. And we’re here, sitting across from each other in the place where so much of us existed before.
I want to say something profound. I want to reach for the perfect words, the kind that make everything make sense. But the truth is, for the first time in years, I don’t feel like I have to reach at all.
Maybe love isn’t about knowing exactly what comes next. Maybe it’s just about knowing that you’re here, and I’m here, and that’s enough for now.
Maybe love was never about endings. Maybe it was always about the ways we find each other again.
-Sam
Journal Entry #237
I always knew she’d come back. The one who left the notes.
For months, she would come in, order the same drink, and leave behind these little scraps of herself on the corkboard. Notes that weren’t really meant for just anyone to read. And then there was the other girl—the one who always found them. She never took them down right away, just stared at them for a moment before quietly slipping them into her bag, as if collecting proof that something unfinished still existed between them.
I used to wonder if they would ever cross paths again, or if this was just one of those almost-love stories the universe likes to play with. But today, she walked in. And then, minutes later, so did the other one.
They didn’t say much at first, just stood there, looking at each other like they were seeing something they’d both been searching for without realizing it.
And then they sat down.
Some people are meant to find their way back. I think I’ve always believed that. But today, I got to see it.
— The Barista Who Watched It Happen
Sam,
I found your note again today.
I almost laughed because, of course, you would leave it there, right where I’d find it. Of course, you’d sign it the way you always did. And of course—I’d still recognize you anywhere.
I don’t know what happens next. But I think, for now, it’s enough that we’re here. That we both found our way back.
I'll see you soon,
Jules
Journal Entry #238
They left something behind today.
Not just their empty cups or the quiet weight of everything unspoken. Not even the glances that carried years of almosts and what-ifs.
No, they left something else—two notes pinned to the corkboard, side by side. Their handwriting, familiar in a way that makes me wonder if the universe always knew they'd find their way back.
"Some things don’t need to be rewritten. They just find their way home." — S.✰
"Funny how we kept looking for signs when we were always each other’s." — J⌂
I read them twice, then once more for good measure. And for the first time since I started watching their story unfold, I don’t feel the need to collect another note for this journal.
Guess I won’t be seeing those notes on the corkboard anymore.
Something tells me they won’t need them now.
— The Barista Who Watched Them Find Their Way Back