12 | M

BY NOW, IT was clear to a select few that Seth Naifeh had been harbouring a surreptitious secret; he was the one who had been delivering the letters.

It was too much of a coincidence for him to have been located so close to the recipients when they had received the letters. Meiji with his signature bench, Diana with her rooftop rendezvous, Meridian — everyone.

Conjunctly, it meant he too, had been the recipient of a letter. How else could he have known where to deposit the letters?

Most people couldn't have imagined how Serena Wilson had found the courage, the will in herself to write a letter to Seth Naifeh. After all, everyone knew that he was the person who initiated the cause of her pain, the person who caused her highschool experience to resemble hell on earth, with his spurious rumours and taunts in the hallway.

Why would she want to give him any satisfaction, any form of goodbyes, when it was almost certain that it was his actions that led to her inevitable downfall.

That however, was where they were wrong. Seth Naifeh wasn't the key cause of her death. If the very same people who were so quick to make assumptions and proliferate rumours could have spent just a fraction of their time to analyse Seth properly, they would've seen him the way she had.

They would've understood why he had done what he did. Why he had turned into such a cruel-hearted person.

She knew that the person he had turned into was partially her fault.

Owing to that fact, she couldn't ever find it in herself to hate him. How could she hate him when his hate towards her was justified?

If they hadn't attended that party by her persuasion, his father may have still been alive. Deep down, the girl knew that the accident didn't mitigate the severity of his actions towards her, yet at the time, she was hurting too. She blamed herself far more and to her, it only seemed fair that Seth was allowed to lash out at her.

It was her fault.

But of course, that wasn't the only reason she'd written him a letter.

No one seemed to realise that in the months leading up to her decision, Seth had stopped bullying her. He'd called off his entire crew, too. The first time he walked past her in the hallways without glaring at her, her mouth had fallen agape and she had taken a double-take. No one bothered her for the rest of that day either. She had been surprised and treaded lightly, wondering if it was an act of maginimosity reserved just for that particular day.

But when their indifference towards her presence continued on to the next day, and the next and the next — it was clear that Seth had stopped. It wasn't as if he had started to interact with her but he'd stopped harassing her.

But even with Seth's commands, Jake was unrelenting.

Jake's torments were on a different scale. It wasn't a simple action that could be easily ignored like name-calling, it was bigger. Jake never knew when to stop.

Serena had heard of an analogy that seemed too fitting for this situation : leaving a frog in tepid water and slowly increasing the temperature until the frog ultimately died.

It was the analogy for an abusive relationship. When he started small, the actions didn't bother her but the violence escalated until the girl was left scared and fearing for her own safety.

By the time she realised what was happening, it was too late.

It was why she'd written Seth a letter. The past between was abysmal. The accident stretching the once partners-in-crime into forlorn strangers, placing an immeasurable wedge between them.

The letter held all of the unsaid words she had to say, to provide a conclusion of sorts to both of them. The words that had been left unsaid when she choose her path.

She wanted him to know the truth of Jake and the other factors that led to her suicide. She wanted him to know everything that he had missed during his absence in the final years of her life.

She wanted him to know that she hadn't committed suicide just because of the bullying, because of Jake, though they were contributing factors, they were not the sole factors. It was so much more than that.

Serena wasn't weak. One thing people never seemed to realise about victims of suicide was the fact that those who lost their battles weren't weak ; they had just been strong for too long.

Seth hadn't been the final recipient, he had been the first. The first to receive a conclusion three months ago in November, when Serena's suicide had first been disocvered.

***

3 MONTHS AGO...

SETH FELT SICK to his stomach. Sweat glistened against his forehead, causing his overgrown fringe to bunch up messily against his forehead. He crouched, face muscles taut, as he placed his hands on his knees to let his heart rate return to its resting pace, listening to the rhythmic sound of basketballs hitting the floor and ricocheting off the board.

There wasn't a proper way to describe how he felt in words. He just felt off. There was an ache in his heart, a weariness to his bones that had been present since an hour ago. Seth didn't know how to explain it but it felt as if there was a ticking time-bomb inside of him.

It had started off as a regular weekend nightly training with his best mates, Meiji and Keith, but tonight, his body and mind were distracted. They refused to cooperate, resulting in a poor show of his skills.

He racked his brain as he struggled to form coherent thoughts :

Had he forgotten something? Was it an important day, an anniversary perhaps? A distant relative's birthday? Had he eaten something different? Something he was allergic to?

He hadn't eaten anything out of the ordinary so it couldn't have been anything food-related. He frowned. For the life of him, he could not remember anything relatively important happening on this day ever in his entire life.

Meiji playfully punched him in the shoulder as he jogged up to where Seth stood, "Hey, what's up with you? Your game's wayy off today."

Seth gave him a grimace in return as he straightened and with a painstaking amount of effort, crafted a response.

"Sorry, my bones are killing me."

It wasn't the truth, but it was some of the truth. Better than nothing.

Meiji gave him a concerned look, Seth never experienced pains. The teenage arabian-male was almost a robot, for him to feel some sort of pain meant something odd. Something big.

"Maybe you better go home, rest it out." he advised Seth just as Keith shot another basketball through the air, the sound of the ball swooshing its way perfectly into the net causing Seth's eyes to wander to Keith's.

Keith waved at him as he jogged further back in an attempt to make an even more daring shot. Seth nodded at him in acknowledgement as he redirected his glance to Meiji who was continuing to speak.

"You rarely experience aches," Meiji continued, bringing Seth's attention back to him. "I don't think you should be pushing yourself today especially when we have a game with Eastview next week."

Eastview High was Oaskville's rival school, located in another state a short half-an-hour drive away. Curtsville was another rival school as well but Curtsville was more competitive over their hockey and ice-skating teams, ice-sports, which Oaksville didn't exactly consider to be their top-priority.

Meiji was right. It was better not to exercise on any injuries, god knows Coach would've killed him if he lost his star player.

He sighed, "I guess you're right. Then I'll head back first. See you tomorrow." He grabbed his school bag and waved his hand at the boys who both waved their own goodbyes at him as he exited out of the gymnasium, hopped onto his bicycle and started to cycle the short distance back to his home.

***

SETH NAIFEH HEAVED a relieved sigh as he dropped his bag down on the pristine marble floors of his house.

Home.

The pain hadn't stopped but at least here there was an abundance of ointments and medication that he could use to soothe this peculiar ache.

Seth's house was akin to a fortress, with twists and turns at every corner. Upon entry, one was immediately greeted with the sight of two staircases that curved up to meet each other at the second floor which then led to more and more rooms—a maze of sorts. Many ways out, one way in.

If it were any newcomer or guest, they would've been in awe of the sight that greeted them as they entered the main hall. The marble-tiled flooring and ostentatious chandelier— precisely three-hundred and twenty-two scintillating diamond crystals with gold-plated wiring— caused the house to dazzle, even in the darkness, the enrapturing sight often caught one's attention to the point where most didn't want to leave.

The architect had done a splendid job when Melissa Naifeh had brought him in to refurbish the dilapidated mansion years ago.

But as it was, Seth Naifeh was used to the glittering sight. In fact, the crystals had grown into a barely-tolerable nuisance instead of a pretty-viewing object. He knew that he was privileged to have been able to say such a thing, and should have been grateful that his single-mother could even afford such an expensive decoration as the chandelier had cost a fortune but honestly, if one had to look at away because a room was too bright one too many times— they'd be on a short fuse too, beauty or no beauty.

In his opinion, the chandelier was impractical but then again Melissa Naifeh, his mother, had always preferred beauty over practicality.

It was why she chose to live in a house that was considerably larger than one that the both of them would ever need.

Seth Naifeh thanked the lords once again for his mother only being able to purchase two chandeliers, placed in the living room and hallway respectively, due to a limited stock. Shielding his eyes from the glimmering crystals, he wandered further into the house.

"I'm home!" he yelled out in an arduous effort to search for the one human located in the gigantic house.

"In the kitchen!" a faint yelling-reply could be heard.

He continued walking straight to the kitchen. As he got closer, a smell wafted through the air becoming more and more prominent, causing his tongue to water in anticipation. When he got to the kitchen, he saw that his mother was wearing an apron. She was baking.

He smiled in amusement at seeing his mother in an apron, a rare sight for Melissa Naifeh was a busy lawyer with her prosecution and defense cases always taking up most of her time. Seth rarely ate home-cooked meals, surviving on takeout and his own limited skills. Meals with his mother were a rarity, more so after his father's death yet Seth couldn't complain because his mother was working twice as hard to put food on the table and to send him to a good school.

Oaksville's tuition fees weren't nothing short of expensive. It made sense for Melissa Naifeh to work hard. But Seth couldn't help but wish she was home more often.

Riches could buy many things, but they couldn't buy time. What was the point of having riches if you didn't have anyone or any time to spend it with? It was why billionaires were often the loneliest people. They had riches beyond comprehension but never sufficient time to spend it all.

Their holidays were spent answering phone calls and even when on vacation, there was always at least one business call a day.

It was why times like these, seeing her in an apron, was almost like a dream he didn't quite believe was real. Yet the delicious fragrance of piping hot cupcakes sat atop the kitchen counter was living proof of that.

"Why are you baking so late at night, mom?" he asked as he approached her. She lifted her hand towards him and he took it, placing a gentle kiss on her hand— a gesture of respect and thankfulness in muslim culture.

He was about to snatch up a cupcake before his mother whacked his hands with an oven-mitt, catching him in action.

"No touching," she scolded "These are for the girls at the corporation. They helped me with a case today so I'm giving them a treat."

Seth pouted as he playfully clutched his hand to his chest, pretending to be injured. Not that it was a lie, there was still an ache in his bones.

"Maybe if you manage to behave and I have an extra piece left over, I'll give it to you later." she added slyly.

His smile grew wider. "Maybe..." he snatched up a piece as his mother was distracted, "Or not." he winked as he escaped with the stolen cupcake.

"Seth Naifeh!" his mother reprimanded but in an equally-joking tone. She didn't bother to chase after him, allowing Seth to head up to his bedroom with a decadent and indulgent treat.

Exiting the kitchen and grabbing his bag from where he had dropped in by the steps, he started walking up the stairs to his bedroom. The house had four floors in total ; the first was the hallway where he had been previously, the second floor was reserved for guests or relatives, the third floor was for him and his mom and the fourth was used as an attic to store old or unused objects.

Walking a short distance down the lit hallway decorated with a few framed photos on its pale-patterned walls, he opened the oak-wood door to his room and flipped on a light, grabbing a fresh pair of clothes from his closet before making his way into his own bathroom that was located opposite of his room.

He took a long, hot shower; a regular routine for when he wanted to soothe his aching bones but even after that, the weariness and ache would not fade. Sighing, he sat down on his bed, hair still dripping with water and a towel around his neck.

Checking his phone, he noticed that Meiji had sent him a concerned text.

Meiji :

Yo Seth, you still good?

He was in the midst of replying before a knock sounded on his door.

"Come in." he said aloud as he shut his phone off, leaning the side of his body against the headboard of his bed.

He would reply to Meiji later.

His mother peeked into the room, Seth patted his stomach. "If you're looking for the cupcake, I'm afraid it's all gone."

His mother chuckled as she opened the door further. "As much as that was very disobedient, I'll let it slide this time."

She sat down on his bed. He glanced at her, eyes tinged with a hint of worry.

"Mom, what's up? Is something wrong?"

"Oh no, goodness no, everything's fine...It's just...I know I haven't been around for you much," his mother said gently as she placed a hand atop his. "But I just want you to know that your father would've been proud of the person you've become."

At her words, Seth froze.

"I am too." she continued speaking, unaware of his frozen silence.

Breaking his frozen-state, he could only offer his mother a meager smile. It was insufficient, he knew that much but his mother didn't know the whole story. Of what he had done after the accident.

His mother thought that her son had taken the entire accident well enough, she had frowned when he had stopped talking to Serena— perhaps even disapproved to an extent of his choice— but she didn't know what he had done to her.

He hadn't ever told her. He knew she would be disappointed in him and for Seth, disappointment from his mother spoke volumes, more so than just scoldings. Hell, he was ashamed of himself.

"Oh!" his mother exclaimed as she turned around, hastily exiting out the door before re-entering a few moments later. "I forgot to mention that a letter came for you today, I collected it just now. Here,"

She passed him the letter commenting, "You never told me you started pen-palling again."

Seth's eyebrows molded into a look of confusion as he flipped the letter. "I didn't."

"Well, it's addressed to you so maybe it's a really old pen-pal." His mother concluded. Seth didn't respond, too captivated by the neat handwriting in the front that seemed all too familiar.

"I'll leave you to it then," his mother said as she brushed her hands on her apron, standing up.

He graced her with a hum in response as she closed the door once more behind her.

Opening up his phone, he finished sending a quick text to Meiji to let him know that he was alright for now before he turned his eyes back to the letter.

The handwriting was neat, elegantly written with a ballpoint pen and with a curve to the letter 'S' which looked strangely familiar to Seth.

He furrowed his brows once more. He hadn't seen handwriting like this ever since—

He sucked in a sharp breath.

It was her.He knew why the handwriting looked so familiar, the curves of the S's, the sharp-pointed endings of the 'h' ; the sight age-old handwriting caused memories to flood into his brain, uninvited like an imaginary dam in his mind had broken free of its restraints.

Serena.

The handwriting was Serena's.

Rather than the fog in his mind being uplifted, his mind remained scrambled, even more so than before. He couldn't fathom a single solid reason that justified why the girl would have written him a letter.

Turning over the letter, his eyes blinked open and closed multiple times, the letters written on the letter— ironically— never changed. His name stared back at him in big bold letters, getting increasingly intimidating with each second that passed.

Seth had a sinking feeling in his chest ; something abysmal was in that letter.

And the worst part— or was it a good thing? He wasn't sure yet— he was the one to receive the abysmal thing.

"Serena," he murmured, "What have you done?"

"Only one way to find out." the voice in his head said, in an almost taunting voice.

With unsteady hands— a feat unheard of for Seth who was the literal definition of grounded, Seth Naifeh tore open the letter and began to read his letter from Serena.

***

TO SETH NAIFEH,

If this has reached you, it means that I'm gone. I didn't emigrate to another country— though that wouldn't have changed much— but it means just that, I'm gone. It means that I'm dead. In fact, by the time you have received this letter, my death may have spread throughout the school— or it may have not— yet.

In that case, congrats ;

You're the first person to know that Serena Wilson is dead.

Seth's mind imploded at those four simple yet heavily-weighted words ; Serena Wilson is dead.

A whole dictionary, with its multitude of words, couldn't even begin to describe how he felt. He wasn't even sure what to pinpoint of his feelings from the entire myriad ; one prominent feeling that he could feel was pain. The pain flared to its highest it had been that whole night, he sat down as the weight in his chest grew heavier.

It couldn't be. Seth Naifeh refused to believe it. His eyes skimmed the next words quickly, voraciously in an attempt to hope that what he had just read was a joke.

You're probably really shocked, openly gaping at this letter. I doubt you would have expected me to go to such drastic measures or that I had tolerated enough of the pain to want to end it all. But perhaps, the irony of the entire situation is that my death is the second most shocking thing, the first might just be this letter. Especially since you would have never expected to receive one, if such a thing ever existed, even more so from me. After all, what sane person would leave her former tormentor( or best-friend, etcetera etcetera— an abundance of other things really, but we haven't gone the time or space on this small slip of paper for that. ) a letter of closure? But I think we've already gone far from establishing that I'm not very normal ; haven't we?

Plus, there's a reason why I decided to write you a letter. There's always a reason for everything but I guess, while we're at it, we should start from the beginning. A thorough recap, that details our starting line and the finish line. Our finish line and my finish line. Our journey through it all.

Seth,

Before the accident, we were the best of friends— even closer than I was with Yasmin at that time. We shared everything ; from simple inanimate objects such as candy or pens to complex things, secrets that were too vast for our understanding at our young age— corruption, infidelity and more.

You and I, we understood each other in ways that no one else could. But that was before. Before the accident. The accident that killed your father, left me in a coma and you as a heart-broken boy.

I didn't understand why you started ignoring me, allowing others to debase me by calling me names, I didn't understand why Yasmin was the only one that remained of our once four-membered group, or why everyone seemed to hate me and were always glaring, there were so many things that I didn't have any answers to.

It was retrograde amnesia. Initially, I didn't remember anything. I caught on quickly, though, of two facts : The timeframe that had passed and that we had been in an accident together.

I always thought that 3 months were insignificant until I realised the tremendous amount of change it can hold. 3 months changed everything. I pushed on to figure out the one most important thing; why you were ignoring me. Eventually, I got my answer— you blamed me.

You blamed me for his death. Blamed me for dragging you to that party that night.

And honestly? You had, and still do have, every right to blame me.

I should've told you not to go, should've let you persuade me to just leave it be yet I didn't and for that, I'm sorry.

I feel the need to explain why I was so insistent that night. It's not to gain your sympathy but just so you have more context. That night was the beginning of the worst period in my entire life— it was the first time my mother started to physically abuse me. She had always spat insults at me but this time, she didn't stop there. My dad was away on a business trip and my mom had finally had enough of me. I didn't know what I did, what triggered her but the regular routine escalated. From just calling me names, insulting me, calling me a failure, that night, it escalated as fists started raining down on my body.

I ran. Before she could damage me any further, I ran. She had only managed to land a few hits on me, the bruises were fresh yet I knew that they would only show up with more clarity in the next few days. They would get uglier too then, but for now, they were only slightly green and hardly visible. I could brush it off as a scrap or fall. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I went to the first place, the first person I thought could help me— you. I now realise that should have been my own burden. I should never have come to your house and dragged you to that stupid party— it seems so insignificant now, so small. I should've just borne with her torments.

But I didn't. And for that, I'm so, so sorry.

I'm sorry that my decision meant that your dad had to pick us up that night from that small party, causing him to meet his end in a fatal accident with a drunk couple.

I know no amount of apologies will ever bring back your dad, and I know that even at the end of this letter you might never forgive me but truly, Seth, I'm so sorry. I visit his grave every week and beg for his forgiveness, praying to the gods that he's doing better.

If I do see him in the afterlife, I'll stay out of his way. I'll tell him about the amazing person you've grown up to become, and then I'll leave him alone— for good.

My mother hasn't touched me in a long time, not since she discovered my eating disorder and had me sent off to that institution not far away from here, yet that abusive period of time is always a black spot in my memory.

I don't blame you for doing what you did. You were grieving and in a sick and twisted way, I knew I deserved it. I don't wish to die with regrets, or with people guilt-tripping themselves over their treatment for me because if I was still alive they wouldn't bat two eyelashes but now that I'm dead suddenly it makes all the difference.

I forgive you, Seth. Maybe you didn't need to read that now but I know that you might have a mixture of emotions at this point in the letter, I just wanted to make that clear.

To me, you never did anything wrong.

Because you showed me a world of a different person. Underneath your insouciant act, away from prying eyes, you were kind. I know you were the one that got Jake away from me that night— not Keith. Keith cared for me at that point yes but he was busy that night, too busy to have noticed Jake's movements. I however, noticed you watching me throughout the night— sorry Naifeh, you're not that subtle :p— I put two and two together.

Though you bullied me, you realised that you were doing something wrong. You helped me. You realised your mistake, you tried to rectify it and for the most part, most of them did stop. But Jake didn't.

Seth let out a low snarl that he didn't even know he was capable of producing, an animalistic and instinctive sound, fucking Jake. Seth had warned him not to do it but of course, him and his reverse psychology-induced state of mind just had to disobey the rules.

Seth was strongly against people disobeying his rules. Jake should have been thankful he didn't chop his dick off that night he caught him harassing Serena. Clearly he hadn't learnt his lesson.

He calmed himself, Jake would have hell to pay. Soon.

I'll spare you the details because Jake's name isn't worth taking up space on this paper. I know you'll have your own ways if you really want to find out what happened. I don't even know if you even read up to this point or have just thrown out the letter without a second glance but if you're reading up to this part, wow, thanks I guess?

Oh yeah, I have a huge box of things that belong to you at my house. The ones from before the accident. and the things you lended me in those times in between our crossed friendship. The ones you never collected.

I think it's time for you to get them back. They were never mine anyways— except for that green hoodie. I'm keeping that :)

Seth eyebrows raised appraisingly at that, the green hoodie was one he bought for her when they were fourteen, the last present he had given her a month before the accident. He was surprised that she had still kept it.

Regretfully, he wished that he hadn't been as foolish, had forgiven her earlier because at least then, he could've formally given her another present instead of an old scroungy hoodie.

As he grew older, the initial pain of losing his father had started fading and it physically pained him when he saw her being bullied. He had given her a few things during times when he too was regretting his own actions and could see that she was uncomfortable; hoodies for when he could see her shivering in class, clean shirts for when others had spilled their drinks on purpose on her, pencils even.

He wished he had taken more action earlier.

Wishes that came all too late.

While you're collecting that old box, I have a favor to ask.

Seth's furrowed his eyebrows— a favour?

I wrote like 13 letters, there are nine other letters beside your own that need delivering. The other three have already been delivered — to my parents, and someone else. They're in another separate brown box that's labelled "LFS" tucked beneath my white table. You can ask my dad to let you into my room. He'll let you in. But that is your choice if you choose to deliver the letters.

Take your own time to mourn, if necessary before delivering the letters— if you do at all. The letters are to help those whom my death may have affected. If you refuse to deliver them, I don't mind. The truth always finds its own way out ; my letters will too.

Seth, I loved you, once upon a time. But I know I wrecked any chance we had at something else when the accident happened. Before everything, you were my best friend and sometimes, I wish we could've been more.

It's pathetic isn't it? Or maybe cliche, because even though you bullied me endlessly, I still loved you. I still saw the boy I once played catch with or the boy who would tease me happily about how pretty I was.

I miss him.

But I know that I lost the right to know him the night of the accident.

I just hope one day, you'll be able to forgive me.

I'm sorry. You'll always hold a place in my heart, Seth. Regardless of whether romantically or platonically, we were best-friends— it's hard to forget that.

And it appears we're reaching our end— finally. For my final words, I'd like to say this ; I don't regret knowing you.

Thank you, for everything you've done.

Serena Wilson

P.S I know you'll go far, your basketball skills are incredible. Don't ever give up on that. And hey, dedicate a speech to me when you reach the NBA, won't you? That's my last wish for you heh and you won't deny a dead girl her wish righttt?

Seth hadn't realised that Serena was paying him that much attention to his skills. She had faith in him that he didn't even possess in himself. Brushing thoughts of basketball and the NBA— which had never struck his mind until now— he put his head into his hands.

He didn't know what to think. He lifted his head up and re-read the letter, trying to make sense of the words. Over and over again until the words were engraved into his memory.

Serena was gone. The realisation that he was the first person to know about it struck him hard. The pains he was feeling didn't ease themselves, rather they grew heavier coupled with a substantial weight on his chest.

Did her parents know? Better yet, had they discovered her?

He winced at the thought of her parents discovering her daughter's dead body. He shook his head, letting out a rough breath.

Seth was never one to be religious but as he remembered something from his countless classes when he was younger at the ustaz about pain ;

"Pain in the body is often a signal of something wrong, which we can cure by remedial measures. Our duty is to find out our own shortcomings and remedy them. If we try to do so in all sincerity of heart, Allah will give us guidance."

Perhaps this was his attempt to redeem himself.

He clenched the letter, hard. He knew from when he started to ignore Serena, that they could never go back to the way they once had been, they could never go back to their previous dynamic— even if Seth had had his regrets mid-way.

There was no way they could have been together, maybe in an alternate dimension but not in this cruel, cruel world. Fate wasn't for them, it was against them.

"The letters," the thought struck him as he stared out the window, into the abyss of the night. Seth would be a fool not to deliver the other letters, he had received his own closure ; everyone else deserved theirs too.

But... as he stared back at his letter, a conundrum arose. To deliver it now, when everyone was still in pain? Or deliver it later, when everyone was more placant with her death?

Contingency overwhelmed him as he drummed his fingers on his lap, mind flooded with thoughts.

Eventually, he reached a conclusion.

***

SETH HAD TAKEN three months by himself to mourn her death, alike many of his peers and her closest friends but three months was enough. He thought of waiting longer but once he had seen firsthand the damage that everyone who Serena had touched was undergoing ; friendships shattering, the tensions escalating— he knew that it was time.

He had knocked politely on the front porch, Mr Wilson — Serena's father — had answered after a short wait, shock colouring his face when he saw the Arabian boy. Mr Wilson was a sight for sore eyes. There were dark bags under his eyes, his posture droopier and hairs graying at an even faster rate. He looked broken. Still, he slapped on a polite smile, ushering Seth in with the same mannerism that had been ingrained into the Wilson household.

His eyes grew dimmer once Seth had relayed his reasons for coming to the house had avoided for so long.

Mr Wilson nodded once, sweeping a hand in the direction of her room as he remained in a sedentary position on the living room couch.

"The same place. Two doors on the right."

As Seth made his way up the marble-tiled stairs, he spotted the familiar white door with a sign that read 'Knock before entering'. He smiled softly. It was still there, the sign they had crafted together.

Hesitantly, he pushed open the door. The brown box was easily spotted, it was the only patch of colour in the white-stained room.

Seth didn't spend much time in the room, the memories too poignant and overwhelming. Taking the box in his arms, he hurried out the door, thanking Mr Wilson on his way out.

It would start with Declan. Serena had included details on how each letter was to be delivered in a neat slip of paper in the box and Seth knew, from careful observation, that Declan never quite was able to sleep past eight. He always collected letters from his parents mailbox, Seth knew no one else would intercept the letter before he would.

As per Serena's request, a mundane and generic location. As he dropped the letter into Declan's mailbox, he watched from afar as Declan rose, like clockwork, and walked outside.

As soon as Declan collected the letters, Seth vanished, as if he had never been there.

***

PRESENT TIMES

WITH THE LAST letter delivered to Yasmin, Seth's job had been completed.

"I hope you're doing better now." He voiced internally as he collapsed onto the bed. Now back in the safe haven of his home, the same day after he had delivered Yasmin Asghar the last letter, he allowed himself to let down his walls.

There were no more letters he needed to deliver, he had obeyed the girl's wishes. It took him 3 months of his own guilt, drowning as he watched everyone mourn over her, knowing that he had the key to give them a bit of closure to the girl's decision but the agonous wait was over— he had done it. At last.

His phone rang, he slid it open, answering without a second glance at the caller ID.

"Seth Naifeh, speaking."

"You're the messenger?" the voice exclaimed in a tone of incredulity.

Seth winced at the high-pitched sound as he took the phone away from his ear, now looking clearly at the caller ID, Yasmin. He winced again at the nickname she had given him before realising that he still had to respond.

Pulling the phone back to his ear, he responded in a rueful tone,

"I guess I am."

"Why did Serena pick you?"

He shrugged, his voice evident with pain as he responded. "I have no idea."

"Who else?" her voice was low, dark.

Seth breathed, instantly knowing what she was talking about. "What do you want to do with them?"

"We're giving her a proper farewell. For real this time." she insisted firmly.

A farewell. That seemed appropriate. Seth began to rattle off the names to Yasmin, the girl was mainly silent on the other end, save for a few scribbling sounds made by a pencil.

As he finished saying the last name, she spoke again her voice confused,

"I thought she wrote thirteen letters?"

"I had to deliver nine, including mine it's ten letters. Two are for her parents and one is for someone else that I'm not sure about."

A small silence as Yasmin seemed to process this answer.

"And you know Olivia, how might I ask?" the british-girl asked him, tone a mix of curiosity and disdain her eyes clearly having brushed over the list of names he had given her a second time.

"A friend of a friend." he responded curtly, not bothering to elaborate. Olivia Harton's brother, Oliver Harton, had gotten himself into a rather sticky situation that had caused his parents to call Melissa Naifeh to act as his defense lawyer.

He had been caught selling drugs, around the same time Olivia had relapsed. Olivia had no idea about her brother's drug-dealing and as Seth viewed it, her parents intended to keep it that way.

Yasmin breathed out loudly on the other end, her way of openly saying she was relinquishing any other questions she had.

"Alright then." she paused before speaking again, "As I said, I'm hosting a farewell for her, for real this time. I think it's time we all make our peace. She wouldn't have wanted all this to have gone on for as long as it had."

She hesitated before adding on, "You're welcome to join. Though we may not be on the best of terms, you received a letter too. You meant something to her, hell you did to me too, once."

Seth didn't respond because he didn't know what to respond. He hadn't thought so far. He hadn't thought delivering the letters might have meant that he would have to connect with each of the people on the letter, most of whom weren't exactly his biggest fan.

At his silence, she sighed. Yasmin commiserated with Seth, he had been her best-friend too but she knew that he was uncomfortable with all the people on her list. It was why her next words were spoken in an even softer tone than before.

"Ultimately, it's your call. I'll send you the details later in case you'd like to come."

She ended the call.

His phone rang with another notification not long after, glancing down he saw that Yasmin had texted him the details of where she planned to host a final farewell for Serena. She had set the date for next Saturday.

Biting his tongue, Seth tossed his phone onto his bed as he stood up, walking towards the window. He looked out at the setting sun which was retracting its rays, painting the sky a beautiful gradient-of orange-red, the psithurism sounds of the surrounding foliage calmed him.

Seth continued to stare out at the window once more, as if hoping the skies would tell him an answer.

Whatever his decision was, he knew he would have to make one he knew wouldn't leave him with any regrets.

The pieces were finally starting to come together, slowly but surely, to complete the puzzle and Serena's life cycle.