Welcome Back, Elliot Grey

The paper crinkled softly in Elliot's trembling hands.

He unfolded it slowly, like peeling a bandage he'd worn too long.

The handwriting was careful. Familiar. The ink was a deep blue. The kind she always used for birthdays, for holidays. For sincerity.

At the top, in her elegant script:

«Dear Elliot, It's been a while. I hope you're doing okay — really. I know we left things quietly, maybe too quietly. But I wanted you to know I'm okay now. I've started a new life.

His name is David. He's kind. He listens. He makes coffee every morning even though he doesn't drink it. Silly, I know. But it's the kind of silly I needed.

We're trying for a child. It feels surreal… like the kind of thing I once thought would never happen. But somehow, here it is — like a life I dreamed of finally knocked on the door.

And yet, I don't hate you. I don't hold anything against you.

You were what you were — and I was who I was. That's all.

If anything… I still see you as a friend.

A quiet part of my life I don't want to erase.

You can contact me if you ever want to talk.

My door's always open for you.

— Claire»

Elliot stared at the final line.

His hands were still.

His face didn't change.

Then, without a word, he walked to the kitchen.

He turned the gas stove on, the blue flame flickering to life.

Held the letter over it.

Watched the paper curl, blacken, and disappear into smoke.

He didn't flinch.

Didn't blink.

Just watched it go.

"Awwww... you didn't like it?"

The voice slithered into the room again — velvet and venom.

Claire's voice.

But not the Claire in the letter.

This one dripped with poison and sarcasm.

"How cruel of her, hm?

Living a full life without you.

Smiling. Loving. Breathing. While you sit here with your broken heartbeat and canned coffee."

Elliot clenched his fists.

"What are you even still doing here, Elliot?

You have no purpose. No passion. You let her go. You let everything go. You're not tragic. You're pathetic."

He stood still.

Shoulders tense.

Teeth clenched.

"Your life is worthless."

"…no."

"You're meaningless."

"…no."

"You're just waiting to disappear."

"You're the void in people's memories."

"You're nothing, Elliot."

"…no."

His voice cracked.

Then rose.

"NO."

His eyes were burning.

The gas flame flickered lower. The last piece of the letter turned to ash.

"Not this time."

He exhaled.

Stepped back from the stove.

"I don't know what I am.

But I won't miss another chance just because I'm scared."

He grabbed his coat.

Opened the door.

And stepped out into the cold.

Reflections of the city shimmered in the puddles.

Elliot walked with quiet urgency, his breath catching in the night air.

And with every step, the voice behind him faded.

He was heading to the café.

The one with the warm lights.

The soft jazz.

The girl who looked at him like he was still here.

End of Chapter 7