Seven days Letter from A Stranger

 

Seven days Letter from A Stranger

A woman in her mid-30s sits peacefully beside a large sunlit window, absorbed in a book, gently flipping its pages. The soft afternoon light spills through the glass, casting golden hues on her face and the open pages. Outside the window lies her lush garden — a vibrant mosaic of flowers, herbs, and winding stone paths — lovingly nurtured and crafted by her over the years. Every bloom and creeping vine tells a quiet story of patience, healing, and time. The atmosphere is calm and reflective, filled with the stillness of a summer breeze and the faint scent of lavender wafting through the open window.

It's Sunday today as Nora is flipping through pages of a book “Letter from a stranger” by Barbara Taylor Bradford. There's a knock on the door.. a mailman with a letter and handmade origami flowers was standing in front of her door. Upon receiving it she went inside and tore the envelope .. and she begins reading it. 

Day 1: 

Dear Love, 

“It's a beautiful morning,  the sun has risen up and the moon that accompanied the night went to rest. The flowers are all looking vibrant, and smiling towards the sun, the butterflies and birds came to play with flowers, looking at the envelope I tore the address wasn't wrong and then I roughly looked at the window , and saw the exact scene, intrigued I continued reading “life indeed bring wonderful surprises and memories to get along. “

Hope today and everyday be like this. 

Till then 

See you love 💕❤️‍🩹❤️

With this the Letter ended and wondering about the details of the letter , yet no matter how much she give a thought everything was unclear and fazed to her. She then let her thoughts to rest and went in kitchen to cook something for. 

📩 Day 2: Letter to Herself — "About Mabel and the Lemon Tree"

Dear love,

Today I argued with Mabel again. I forget what started it—something about the lemon tree and whether it was planted in '62 or '64. But suddenly we were shouting like two geese in spring. I told her she never listens. She said I always forget. Maybe we’re both right.

But you know something, sweetheart? After lunch, she brought me a lemon from the garden. Wrapped it in one of those napkins with the blue swirls. “Let’s call it even,” she said. And I laughed. Oh, how we laughed.

Funny, isn’t it? We remember the fights, but the forgiveness—that stays warmer in the bones.

Don’t let go of old friends, even when the lines blur. Love lasts longer than memory.

With gentle faith,

Yourself

(Who sometimes forgets, but never stops hoping)

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📩 Day 3: Letter to Herself — "The One About John"

Dear love,

I dreamt about John again last night. He was sitting at the kitchen table, tapping his spoon like a metronome. I used to hate that sound. I’d slam the cupboard just to make him stop. We were like cats in a sack some days—always bickering, always circling.

But oh, how we danced after the fights. A silent waltz while doing dishes. A squeeze of the hand in church. We never said sorry much, but we always came back.

We made a pact once—"No walking out. Only walking around, cooling off, and then walking back in." I wrote it on the fridge in red marker. Maybe it’s still there, under layers of time.

So remember this: love is not perfect, but it is persistent. Don’t dismantle it just because it creaks.

With warmth,

You

(The girl who still keeps her promises)

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📩 Day 4: Letter to Herself — "The Work Desk and the Clock"

Dear love,

Today I felt like I was back at the office. Files stacking, phones ringing, and always that clock watching me with judgmental eyes. There was never enough time. Or maybe I was never enough time for the people I loved.

I remember staying late, missing dinner, forgetting birthdays. Once, I snapped at poor Anwar in payroll for giving me the wrong slip. He forgave me. Said I was “just running on fumes.” He was right.

I was tired. But I believed in what I did. I believed in doing it right. And I believed—still do—that no job is ever more important than kindness.

Even when the work gets heavy, don’t harden your heart. Don’t shut people out. The soul needs rest, but it also needs company.

Faith isn’t just for quiet moments. It’s for the chaos, too.

With weary but hopeful hands,

Yours, always

(The one who still tries)

📩 Day 5: Letter to Herself — "The Quilt and the Quiet"

Dear love, 

It rained today. Not a loud rain, but the kind that drips down windowpanes like old lullabies. I wrapped myself in that patchwork quilt Mama made — the one with mismatched colors and a tear near the edge. She always said, “Things don’t have to match to keep you warm.”

I thought of all the mismatched moments in life — the disappointments, the regrets, the sudden goodbyes. And still, we stitched ourselves back together.

You don’t need perfect days to live a beautiful life. You just need courage — and a little softness around the edges.

So keep wrapping yourself in kindness, even when the seams come loose.

With a warm sigh,

Yourself

(The one who carries quiet bravery)

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📩 Day 6: Letter to Herself — "Of Broken China and Mended Mornings"

Dear love, 

This morning I dropped a cup — one of the blue china ones. It shattered into three sad pieces. I almost cried. Not because of the cup, but because it reminded me how fragile we all are.

But you know what I did? I glued it back. Piece by piece. It doesn’t look the same, but it still holds tea. And there’s a kind of stubborn beauty in that.

We are all cracked in places. We’ve lost people. Lost years. But we are not lost. As long as you choose to mend — to wake up, to smile at someone, to write these letters — you are choosing life.

So don’t be afraid of breaking. Be brave enough to heal.

With love stitched into every line,

You

(The one who still believes in mornings)

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📩 Day 7: Letter to Herself — "When the Lights Flicker"

Dear love, 

The lights flickered again tonight. Just for a moment. I used to hate that — made me feel small, unmoored. But now I find it comforting, like a reminder that everything — even electricity — has its off days.

So do we.

Some days the words won’t come. Names slip away like soap in water. I stared at a photograph today and couldn’t remember his name. But I remembered the way he laughed — like gravel and honey.

Not everything needs a label to be real.

Even when the lights flicker, don’t fear the dark. You’ve carried your own light for years. Let it guide you now.

And remember: you are never alone, even when you forget who to call.

Still shining,

Yourself

(The flame that won’t go out)

—

These 7 seven letters warm my heart and soul as if someone has given new energy into me.. I went to check the person at old house , I was told she hardly remembers anything when she writes it down and ask us the reception people to send it to her address.  After sometime I got know she passed away.  

I truly realised the value & essence of life .