Julia

Story about friendship, mental health, and small gestures that remind us we're not alone.

Prompt for 6/14
Write a story that includes the words: envelope, lock, apple
W/C: 300
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Gray light filtered through the heavy trees, Julia sat unblinking and unmoved, letting the petrichor and rain overwhelm her senses.

Knocking at her door dislodged the trance. “Julia,” a tired woman’s voice called - barely a whisper. The knob turned a quarter before it stopped. Locked. “Honey, I’ve got some mail for you.” The scraping of paper under the door grated against the natural ambiance.

Julia waited for the hallway chatter to fade, ‘Please leave me alone’, she wanted to call - but her voice wouldn’t speak. The seat groaned as she roused herself. Five unmarked envelopes lay, her name written in unfamiliar script.

She shuffled towards her unkempt bed, eyes fixed on the bundle, pushing through the chaos that littered her floor.

Curiously, her finger slid across the seal and emptied the contents.

A single seed.

"What the fuck?" Her first words in a week, drowned by thunder.

Another fell from the second envelope.

A third. Fourth. ‘What kind of sick joke is this?’

She hurled the final letter, hitting the wall with a thud before tumbling down. It was heavier than she expected a single seed to be.

Julia retrieved the discarded envelope and smoothed the bent edge. She turned it over and carefully unsealed the envelope. Inside was a fifth seed and a handwritten letter.

“Jules -

I miss you. I keep buying two coffees out of habit and the barista keeps looking at me funny.

I miss texting you random shit at 2am.

I keep sending you these stupid apple seeds so you’ll text me about some weirdo stalker.
But you don't.

I miss you so fucking much. My best friend.

Please. I’m here for you, always.

♥ Cait”


Julia set down the letter. One shaky breath. Two. A gentle sob escapes, her facade crumbling.