Dear Stranger by Elise K Ackers Page A

seat at the nearest table, he turned in her direction.
    It would be nice to watch a little happiness today. That way, when he was sprawled on his couch tonight, thumbing the remote and wishing his life were a little different, he could picture what he was missing out on with a certain degree of clarity.
    He’d picture her. He’d pretend that letter was from him and that she was working late. That their night together would start after dinner. That she was coming to him in that dress, wearing the smile she wasn’t wearing at the moment.
    She was pretty. She had a narrow face, and her chin was a little pointed. Her brown hair tumbled down her back and over her shoulders, curling at the ends. If she were his, he imagined he’d tease his fingers through the length of it whenever he drew her close. There were small beauty spots on the alluring curve of her throat which her lover no doubt kissed at every opportunity. And her lips…she’d painted them the same red as her dress.
    If a siren song were a colour, it would be that one.
    By the time she’d finished her coffee and shrugged on her coat, he’d imagined half a dozen alternate lives with her. And that might have been enough — the wist and the wonder — had she not left the yellow envelope behind.
    Ian abandoned his chair and coffee, thinking only of reuniting her with the words she valued, and reached the vacated table at the same time as a man looking for a seat. Ian flashed the stranger a distracted smile, seized the envelope and hurried out to the street.
    His thoughts that she would stand out were dashed — it wasn’t so early now and people had flooded the street in coats and colours which defied the grey sky. Red was everywhere, and she was gone.
    A tram lumbered past, rattling and scraping on its rails. Commuters bustled from place to place, eyes fixed ahead. The city was coming alive, and in doing so, was coming between them.
    Ian lifted the envelope, expecting to learn her name. But he saw a version of his own. The finder of this letter seemingly owned it, yet had she found this letter or had he?
    Where he stood no longer had meaning. There was only the curious envelope and the secrets it contained.
    The card within had three green stars on the front, arranged in no discernible pattern, and inside, the handwriting was loopy and slanted to the right. He checked the front of the envelope again to be sure he wasn’t reading something private.
    If you’ve found me, I’m yours .
    Wishing the sentiment extended to the brunette herself, Ian returned his attention to the card.
     
    Dear You ,
    There are some days that we savour and some days that we endure. Today the world just may be divided in half .
    If you no longer possess your heart, I hope that you’re lucky enough to possess the heart of the person you’ve given it to. If your heart belongs to you, I hope that you are content and kind to yourself. If you, like me, wish to give your heart away, know that love is around every corner, in forms you might overlook and in people you might not expect. Be open, and generous, and hopeful, and know that love will find you somehow. It is looking for you .
    I hope that whatever you carry isn’t a burden and that whatever you are celebrating comes again in some form .
    You are special. One of a kind. You’re a limited edition .
    So if your heart is unclaimed today, consider it mine .
    Your Valentine .
    When Ian Mitchell looked up, the storm had moved inside him.
    Reese ate a quick lunch at her desk before she ventured outside into the rain. She’d originally decided to leave more letters in the park nearby, at the uncovered bus stop and on the front steps of the State Library, but she’d been forced to rethink this owing to the weather. She now planned to walk the surrounding streets and look for buildings people were seeking shelter in — book shops, food courts, and the like.
    She unhooked her pale blue umbrella and lifted it over her head. Standing at the