[1]

It has been an incredibly long year. A year that felt like it stretched beyond its own bounds, into something endless. Spring has returned, eager to greet me, to sing its familiar songs. The flowers sway in the gentle breeze, as if they’re laughing—perhaps yesterday's rain tickled their roots. Just a few weeks ago, the air was crisp and cold; now, it carries a sweet, caramel warmth.

My desk sits beside the window, seeping in a soft, golden glow that caresses its auburn surface. The room around me feels like a time capsule. Dust specks dance in that warm light, standing against the vibrant life outside, compared to the stillness inside. It’s hard to believe it has been nearly a year since I last sat at this table—a whole year filled with uncertainty and hope, life and death.

Mom must have tidied up the room before my discharge; it looks almost identical to how I left it. I still can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that I’m back here, walking about freely—well enough to sift through the remnants of my life, confronting what had avoided me for so long.

As I pulled the drawer open, it creaked softly, revealing a jumble of forgotten memories—crumpled sketches, old receipts, and a half-empty notebook filled with thoughts that now feel foreign. Among the mess, two things caught my eyes: a folded piece of paper and a cream-colored envelope.

I picked up the envelope first. Its smooth texture felt oddly comforting against my fingertips. I turned it over, searching for a return address, but to my surprise, found only a name scrawled in hurried handwriting on the back.

Carter.