Out of the Past #3
A chill shot through him. His heartbeat stuttered, then returned with such ferocity it made him sweat. This was for him. Words his father had left. Not to the world. Not to history. To him.
Collin swallowed hard. He closed his eyes, tried to picture Jiah’s face—but it came only in pieces. A smile, a rough jaw, a tousle of hair, a murmur of voice. Nothing whole. Nothing lasting.
But this—this envelope was. Something real. Something his father had touched. Something he had meant for his son to read.
Hands trembling, he broke the seal.
June 21, 488
To my dearest Collin,
Today marks five years since the night you were born, and I have treasured every moment.
In those years, I’ve learned so much about you—and I know there’s still so much more to discover.
Lately, I’ve discovered something rather remarkable, you seem quite taken with a certain young lady.
Is it a five-year-old’s fancy, or the beginnings of a true and lasting love?
Time will tell. But I do know this—you are a soul moved by your emotions.
When you cry, your tears come from somewhere deep.
When you laugh, it shakes your whole body.
And when you love, even now, you give yourself completely.
That’s a rare gift, my boy. Many people go through life trying to feel less.
I hope you never do. Yours is a heart made for wonder—for joy and for sorrow, for all the beautiful and difficult things that make us human.
Let yourself feel the good things fully.
Let them wrap you up and carry you. But know, too, that sorrow will come.
That’s the way of life. Don’t be afraid of the pain, but don’t let it take root in you either.
It may feel stronger than you, some days.
But it will pass—always—with time and patience.
And when it comes, remember the joy. Remember the warmth and the wonder, and let those memories guide you through the darker moments.
You once asked me what it means to be in love.
One day, when you least expect it, you’ll look at a girl and forget your own name.
You’ll wonder how you ever smiled before you knew her.
The sun will seem dim beside her face. Her voice will make your heart leap, just to be closer.
And when she smiles at you, time will stop. The whole world will hold its breath.
It will be terrifying—and wonderful.
To love someone that deeply is one of the greatest things you’ll ever do. It will change you. It will make you better. You’ll become the kind of man who wants to protect, and build, and strive—not because anyone told you to, but because she inspires you.
And when you find the woman who loves you in return, you’ll be able to face anything.
She’ll be your friend, your partner, your home.
You’ll lift each other in your weakest hours, and celebrate your strongest days hand in hand.
You’ll make sacrifices gladly. You’ll take pride in caring for her, and you’ll find your courage in the sound of her laughter.
But love, my son, is not without heartbreak.
One day, you will have your heart broken. And because you feel so deeply, it will hurt more than you thought possible. It might feel like the end of everything. You’ll wonder if you’ll ever feel whole again. But you will. I promise you will.
Don’t let heartbreak turn you bitter. Don’t let pain make you afraid to love again. Even if it breaks you wide open, let it. That’s how we grow. That’s how we become real.
And if ever you feel alone in this wide, wild world—remember this: you are loved, always. By your mam and by me. We are with you, wherever you go.
Happy birthday, my dear boy. Take your time growing up. Stay curious. Keep your heart open. And hold on to your wonder as long as you can.
—With all my love, Your da
Tears welled in Collin’s eyes, hot and yearning. His father’s handwriting. His father’s voice, caught between lines of ink and time. Advice—meant for him—reaching across years, still waiting patiently to be heard.
Sadness, joy, pain, longing—all of it surged at once, rising like a wave. He’d always known his parents loved him. But this was proof, tangible and irrefutable. Something to hold on to when the rest of the world felt like it was slipping through his hands.
The front door slammed.
He wiped his face with his sleeve just as Aries appeared in the doorway.
“You’re home?” Aries asked. “I thought you were out with Lekyi.”
“Change of plans.” Collin forced a smile. “Turns out I’m not as irresistible as his latest beachside conquest.”
Aries’s eyes drifted to the open crate. He stepped in and dropped onto the bed. “You finally opened it.”
Collin hesitated, then handed him the letter. “Read this.”
Aries skimmed the page, then looked up, his expression softening. “This is... Collin, this is incredible. What else is in there?”
Collin returned the letter to the box, fingertips brushing the edge as if reluctant to let go. “Journals. Pages and pages of them.”
“And?”
“I don’t know if I want to read them,” he said quietly.
Aries didn’t ask why. He just nodded—the kind of quiet, knowing nod that only comes from years of friendship, from seeing each other through too many storms to need an explanation.
They sat in silence a moment, the crate between them.
Aries fingered the dusty pages. “Some of these are dated before we were born. Just... amazing.”
Collin let out a slow breath. “Have you ever wondered if Grandfather only told us the good things? I can’t remember a single story that showed them in a bad light.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Aries ran a finger along the rough edge of the box. “But he was trying to protect us. Do you remember anything from before?”
Collin tried—again. But the images were vague, unfinished. “I know my mother sang to me. I think I remember a song, but not the tune. Not the words. I wish I could hear their voices again...”
“I don’t remember mine at all,” Aries said, voice low. “Only what Grandfather’s told me. What I see in my head are his memories, not mine. But you—this is a treasure, Collin. You’ve been given something rare. A way to really know them.”
“I know,” Collin murmured, brushing the box lid with his palm. “I’m just... not ready. They’ve been hidden this long. A little more time won’t ruin them.”
Aries rose and leaned in the doorway, watching him. “Well, whenever you are ready—just so you know—I’ll be here.”
Collin nodded. Then, almost without thinking, he closed the lid with a soft snap and looked up. Something in him, weary of grief, reached for light.
“Do you want to go fishing at the cove?” he asked. The words surprised even him—but not the small, rising spark of hope that came with them.
Aries’s whole face brightened. “Great idea! I’ll ask the fellows when I’m in town tomorrow. Should we make it a campout?”
And just like that, the heaviness inside Collin loosened.
“Absolutely.”
They shared a quick meal before turning in for the night. Collin moved through his bedtime ritual by habit: nightshirt, hair combed out, clothes tossed into the basket. But as he fluffed his pillow, his mind was still with the crate. Still turning the pages he hadn’t yet dared to read.
Curiosity wrestled with fear. The pull to know his parents—to truly know them—was almost too strong to resist. What were they like, beneath the stories?
Was his mother quiet or bold, gentle or flirtatious?
Was his father full of pride or quietly steady?
His hand hovered over the stack. Then, slowly, he slid one page free.
July 14, 477
This is my third trip to Chroma since I met Ismene in the spring, and still I find no words big enough to hold what I feel for her. She’s more than beautiful—she’s bliss itself. When I see her, something in me steadies and trembles all at once.
I met several of her friends tonight at Isaac and Alienor's wedding.
It was a warm gathering—laughter, music, full tables.
I spoke with Izin, who is easy company. His wife, Zinnia, is several months with child now, lovely and joyful.
Her black hair spills to her waist like a waterfall—truly, the women of Chroma are radiant.
But none catch the light the way Ismene does when she smiles. She is sunlight itself.
After the banquet, I walked her home. We stopped beneath an old gnarled oak in a moonlit clearing.
The air was cool, soft. The moon was so bright it silvered her shoulders.
I was enchanted, but I didn’t mind the spell.
Under that tree, I kissed her for the first time.
I don’t know how long we stood there. I only remember her breath on mine and the quiet certainty in my chest, I will marry her. Somehow, someday—I will.
—Jiah
September 29, 478
Today I asked Ismene’s father for her hand in marriage.
He refused.
She hadn’t told me she was promised to Constantine. The news felt like a slap, not just because of the promise, but because she kept it from me. I don’t know what hurts more—her silence or her father’s certainty that I’m not good enough.
What am I to them? A field hand’s son. My father picks cotton on land owned by Constantine’s family. I can’t give her land. Or wealth. Or a father’s blessing.
But I can give her joy. I can give her my life.
Her father says love won’t put food on the table. He’s not wrong. But Constantine may give her everything but love, and she doesn’t love him. Not the way she looks at me beneath that old oak tree where I want to build our house. Not the way her fingers brush mine when no one is looking.
I love her. I’ll fight for her. I’ll make her father see that I’m not asking to earn Ismene—I only want the chance to build a life with her. To wake beside her. To raise children in a home we make together, even if it’s modest. Even if it’s hard.
She deserves everything. And I may never own cotton fields or herds of sheep. But no man will love her more than I do.
—Jiah