That evening, my boyfriend Jake and I had plans to visit our mutual friend, Irvin.

The day had started with excitement—I’d picked out a special cake for Irvin’s birthday, looking forward to a fun evening together. But as night fell, my mood began to shift.

Standing outside Irvin’s house, I clutched the cake tightly, trying to shield it from the relentless rain. The icy droplets soaked through my coat, plastering my hair to my face.

My fingers, trembling from the cold, fumbled as I dialed Jake’s number again.

It rang. And rang. No answer. Frustrated, I checked my phone once more, only to see a new text message pop up:

“I’m running late. Go ahead without me.”

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening. This wasn’t the first time Jake had let me down.

He was often late—or sometimes didn’t show up at all. I sighed deeply, feeling the familiar pang of disappointment.

Glancing at the warm glow of Irvin’s house, I knew I couldn’t stand outside much longer. Swallowing my frustration, I trudged to the front door.

The doorbell chimed, and within moments, Irvin answered.

His smile was as welcoming as ever, but it quickly turned to concern as he took in my drenched appearance.

“Chelsea! Oh my gosh, you’re soaked!” he exclaimed. “Come inside, quick!”

He stepped aside, holding the door open wide as I shuffled in, dripping water onto his doormat.

The warmth of his home wrapped around me instantly, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside.

“Happy birthday,” I said, mustering a smile as I handed him the box.

Irvin peeked inside and beamed. “You brought cake! Thank you so much!” His sincerity made me feel a little lighter.

“I’ll take this to the kitchen. You, on the other hand, need to warm up. Do you want to take a shower? You’re going to catch a cold if you stay in those wet clothes.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” I admitted, feeling shy but grateful for his thoughtfulness.

Moments like these reminded me why I liked Irvin so much—he was nothing but kind.

Irvin quickly handed me a stack of fluffy towels and a set of warm clothes—a soft hoodie and sweatpants that looked a size too big. “Here, these should be comfortable while your clothes dry,” he said, smiling.

“Thanks,” I murmured, feeling a little awkward. I clutched the clothes tightly, glancing down at my soaked jeans and clinging shirt. “Sorry about all the water I’ve brought in.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Irvin said with a wave of his hand. “I’m just glad you came inside before freezing out there.”

I couldn’t help but notice how different Irvin was from Jake. Irvin’s calm, gentle demeanor made every interaction feel easy, while Jake’s loud, confident personality often left me second-guessing.

And yet, it wasn’t Jake’s brash side that had drawn me to him in the first place. It was the version of him I knew—the romantic who had won me over with sweet, heartfelt letters.

Shaking off my thoughts, I headed to the bathroom to change. The warm shower felt heavenly, washing away the cold and the heaviness I hadn’t realized was weighing on me.

By the time I emerged in Irvin’s oversized clothes, I felt like a different person—comfortable, dry, and almost at peace.

When I returned to the kitchen, Irvin was setting up the birthday cake. He glanced up and grinned. “Much better, right?” He took a step closer and gently draped his coat over my shoulders. “Just in case you’re still a little cold.”

The kindness in his gesture made my chest tighten. “Thank you,” I said softly.

As we lit the candles on the cake, Irvin’s face glowed in the flickering light. “Thank you for this,” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “It really means a lot.”

“Happy birthday, Irvin,” I said, smiling. “I’m sorry I was late—I was waiting for Jake.”

“Will he be coming?” he asked, his tone careful, as if not wanting to press.

“He said he’s running late,” I replied, forcing a smile. “We’ll save him a piece of cake.”

We sat at the table, talking and laughing as we ate. Conversations with Irvin felt natural, almost effortless.

Hours slipped by, and Jake still hadn’t shown up.

Feeling awkward, I eventually excused myself to change back into my clothes. As I reached into Irvin’s jacket pocket to return it, my fingers brushed against something—an envelope.

Curious, I pulled it out and unfolded the letter inside.

My playful smile faded as I scanned the words.

The handwriting, the way the sentences flowed—it was hauntingly familiar.

Stuffing the letter into my pocket, I quickly composed myself and left the bathroom. “Thanks for everything, Irvin,” I said hastily.

“I think I should go. Sorry about Jake.”

Irvin’s kind eyes met mine.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you came.”

“Happy birthday again,” I managed to say before slipping out the door, my heart racing as questions swirled in my mind.

When I got home, the house felt colder than usual, the silence pressing down on me like a weight.

I went straight to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. My thoughts were a tangled mess, racing back to the letter I had found in Irvin’s jacket.

Pulling out the small box from the back of my closet, I sat cross-legged on the floor, my hands trembling as I opened it.

Inside were all the love letters Jake had written me when we first started dating. Each one was carefully folded, the edges slightly worn from the number of times I’d read them. I picked up one of the letters, my heart heavy with dread, and unfolded it.

I placed Jake’s letter next to the one I had taken from Irvin’s jacket and stared at the two pieces of paper, side by side.

The handwriting was identical—the way the letters slanted slightly to the right, the looping “y”s, even the neat spacing between words.

The love letters that had made me fall for Jake, the ones that convinced me he had a sensitive, romantic side, weren’t his. They were Irvin’s.

I felt a mix of betrayal and confusion.

Was this why Jake had become so distant lately? And Irvin—why had he written them? Were the feelings behind those words even real?

My chest tightened as I tried calling Jake. The phone rang and rang, but he didn’t answer.

Hours later, the front door creaked open, and heavy footsteps echoed through the hallway.

Jake stumbled into the living room, his clothes disheveled, reeking of alcohol. My anger flared.

“Where have you been?” I demanded, my voice sharper than I intended.

“Chelsea, why does it matter?” he slurred, his words dripping with irritation. “I told you I was busy.”

“Busy?” I shot back, my voice rising. “We were supposed to go to Irvin’s birthday together! I waited for you!”

Jake waved his hand dismissively, his movements clumsy. “Well, I ll meet him some other time. It’s not a big deal. You weren’t alone—you had Irvin to keep you company.”

His casual tone sent a jolt through me. “Yes, I did,” I said, my voice trembling with anger. “And you know what? He was a lot more enjoyable to be around than you’ve been lately!”

Jake narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Without answering, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the letter. I held it up in front of him. “Who wrote this?”

Jake’s gaze flicked to the paper, and he shrugged lazily. “Irvin, I guess. It looks like his writing.”

“And what about the letters you gave me when we first started dating?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Did he write those too?”

Jake sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hand. “Yeah, so what? You liked that stuff, and I knew he’d be good at it. I just wanted to impress you. Does it really matter?”

“Does it matter?” I repeated, my voice breaking under the weight of my emotions. “You lied to me! Everything I loved about you—those words, those feelings—they weren’t even yours.”

Jake rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. “I don’t want to argue about this right now. I’m tired. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

Without another word, he stumbled down the hallway and into the bedroom, leaving me standing there, frozen.

Tears blurred my vision as the weight of the betrayal crushed me. Everything I thought I loved about Jake had been a lie.

Grabbing my coat, I wiped my eyes and left the house. I needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to me.

There was only one place I could go for answers. I drove straight to Irvin’s house and rang the doorbell. He opened the door, his face lighting up with surprise and concern.

“Chelsea? What’s wrong? Why are you here so late?”

“I need to talk to you,” I said quietly. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he said, stepping aside.

Once inside, I pulled the letters from my pocket. “Irvin, please tell me the truth. Did you write these?”

Irvin’s expression shifted. He looked startled, then nervous. “Yes,” he admitted softly.

“The only reason I started dating Jake was because of these letters,” I said, my voice trembling.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his gaze. “But the words in those letters weren’t lies. I wrote them because they were how I truly felt.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my heart pounding.

“I love you, Chelsea. I always have. But Jake liked you too, and he’s my friend. I didn’t know what to do. When he asked me to write the letters, it was easy for me because they were real. I wrote them from my heart.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” he said quietly. “And I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

Before he could say more, I stepped forward and hugged him tightly. He froze in surprise, but when he looked into my eyes, he saw the answer he needed. Leaning in, he kissed me.

It may have started in a complicated, messy way, but now I knew the truth. The words I had fallen for belonged to Irvin. And so did my heart.

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