Dear Fin,

    My dear friend, I’m afraid to say this is the beginning of the end. As I write this, I know it’s time that I draw these letters to a close, regardless of what I said in the previous one. I need to finish these; I need to move on with my life. Even though I’m not necessarily in love with you, I still love you and the fact that I’m not writing doesn’t change a thing.

    The reason I came to this decision is because, well . . . I met someone several days ago.

    Before I tell you about him, let me give you a little background. Lennon and Matt were having a little party over at their place and had invited me. Stupidly, although fortunately, I had agreed to go to it.  But as soon as I arrived . . . my social anxiety kicked in, sending my heart into disarray, and I wasn’t able to handle it any longer. I locked myself in the bathroom.

    Okay, maybe I didn’t lock myself in the bathroom. I just thought I did. I found this out when the door spilled open and there he was.

    You’re very good-looking, Fin, but I’ve never seen a more attractive man than him. He was fairly tall with a lean, muscular figure; broad shoulders peeked out from underneath his plaid shirt, his features moulded from the finest porcelain. He had dark wide eyes that held the stars within their depths, eyelashes fanning crescents under his arching eyebrows, square-ish yet stylish glasses framing his face. His hair was like the feathers of a raven, awkwardly placed on top his head; a lazy grin perched upon his lush lips. Then he spotted me.

    “Hi,” I squeaked, awkwardly.

    “Hi,” he replied, slowly, his voice stealing my breath. It was like the hush of wind in a forest, the lapping of the waves at a beach during the night, the melody of a lover’s heartbeat. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know anyone was in here.”

    “It’s fine,” I assured the handsome man. “I didn’t know anyone needed the bathroom.”

     He shrugged. “I was the only one in line.”

    “Still, I’ll get out of your way,” I told him. Just looking at his face . . . there was something about those sharp features that seemed familiar. “This is going to sound crazy, but do I know you from somewhere?”

    “It’s not crazy, although I can assure you that I haven’t had the blessing to meet you yet. I would remember such a pretty face,” he replied.

    I blushed. A torrent of butterflies scurried about in my stomach and I smiled nervously at him. “You’re quite the charmer.”

    He laughed, a sound that was so sweet I ached to hear it again once it had finished. “What can I say?  Scott’s my name, charming is my game.”

    I grinned. “Well, nice to meet you, Scott.”

    “No, the pleasure is all mine,” he insisted. “Although, can I ask why a pretty girl like you is cooped up in the bathroom at a party?”

    I shrugged. “I’m not a party person.”

    “So that’s why you decided to attend one?”

    “Well, if you really want to know, it’s not exactly easy going to parties with, well . . . this,” I told him, pointing to my cane, which was sitting on the ground next to me. I currently resided against the bathtub, the cool marble against the back of my neck.

    “Can I ask you a crazy question?”

    “Shoot.”

    “Are you, um, Annalise Martin?”

    I scowled, sceptical immediately. “How did you know that?”

    His eyes widened. “Oh my God. You’re Annalise Martin; I can’t believe . . . I just can’t believe I’m meeting you. It’s such a huge honour.”

    I continued to scowl. “Pardon?”

    He blushed. “It’s just; I’m a really big fan of your art work.  I’m Scott Walker; I believe you’re friends with my grandmother and sister? I just-“

    “You’re Ailsa’s grandson?” I interrupted. Ailsa had shown my art to her grandson who in turn showed it to Veronica Ashworth. He nodded, shyly. “Then it’s all thanks to you that the gallery has accepted me. Thank you so much, Scott.”

    “Please, you’re the one that has been doing all the favours. Any gallery in the world would love to steal you away from us,” he insisted.

    “You’re too sweet.”

    He smiled, so shy. “This is going to sound crazier than the craziest thing you know, but . . . I feel like I know you, you know? Well, I guess you don’t, it’s just that your art is so beautiful. It does what art is supposed to do: tell a story. And yours is the type that I want to listen to, tell my children to; because even if it’s a tragedy, it’s beautiful.”

    I gulped. “You think my art is tragic?”

    “To me, it is. The way you capture things . . . you see them in a way that’s vulnerable and innocent, yet damaged in a way only a broken person can handle,” he murmured.

    “You think I’m broken?” I whispered.

    “Maybe.”

    Silence sat between us for a moment, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. And, in the thick of it all, he smiled at me. That sweet, shy smile of his and . . . I don’t know. There’s just something about his smile that made the world seem like a better place.

    “Scott? This is probably going to sound crazy-“

    “Crazier than what I just said?”

    I blushed. “Yeah.”

    His eyebrows rose. “I’m intrigued. Please, continue.”

    “Do you, um, maybe, uh . . . want to go get a cup of coffee sometime or something?” I asked, noticing how sweaty my hands were and the frenzied flapping done by my fluttering butterflies in my stomach. He was silent, his expression unreadable. “I mean, only if you want to, don’t feel like you have to or anything-“

    And his smile became wider than before. “Annalise, I would love to grab a cup of coffee or something with you, I’m just trying to decide what the least desperate way to ask you if you want to go now is. I guess I just saved myself from those efforts.”

    I couldn’t help but grin at him. “Then let’s go.”

    “Do you need help, um, getting up?” He asked as I shifted my arms around for support to rise.

    I shook my head at him as I slowly stood up, leaning against the bath tub, grabbing my cane for support almost immediately.  I felt somewhat self conscious now, before him, leaning on my crutch like I was severely elderly.

    “I really like your cane, I feel like we’re hitting it with the spinsters,” he told me, automatically making me feel better about it. It made me feel even better that he didn’t ask about why I had it, not the whole night.

    “I’m glad you enjoy it, Scott,” I replied. “But I’m warning you: don’t get on my lawn, you dang hooligan, or I’ll hit you with my cane.”

    He laughed. “That would be a sight to see, Annie.”

     “Annie?” I asked as we walked out of the bathroom, carefully weaving our way through the party. It was much more complicated when you’re with a cane, but Scott waited patiently for me, helping me through. “Like the musical?”

    “Annalise is a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?” He reasoned and I smiled, remembering the last time someone had said that to me.

    “Yeah, I guess it is.”

    “Now, I have a question,” he announced as we made it out of Lennon and Matt’s apartment. They had been nowhere to be seen so I hadn’t had the chance to thank them for their hospitality.

    “Proceed,” I commanded.

    “So you only use one hand on your cane, right?” He asked.

    I frowned at the odd question. “Yeah.”

    “So can I hold the other one?”

    Instantly, I blushed and he took that as answer enough. His cold fingers tangled with mine, a knotted clump of hands. And when he touched me, Fin . . . it was like nothing I had ever experienced before. There was no fire or electricity or tingles, there was just warmth and understanding and affection and us.

    We found a McDonald’s, since it was midnight and nowhere else was open, and bought coffee and sat down. It was the best night of my life, Fin; I can’t even begin to explain to you. We just held hands over the table and we talked about everything under the moon we could think of; he had me laughing so hard my stomach hurt, my lips aching from smiling. There was something behind his gaze that was so incredibly tender that I could help but like him even more than I knew it was possible for me to like someone.

     After a few hours of simply being together, we went on a walk through the city. It was one in the morning, but I had never been less tired in my life. I held my cane and he piggy-backed me around, causing me to laugh uncontrollably, feeling the muscles on his back against my stomach comfortably.

    And then he took me home at three in the morning. We stood outside my door for a while, holding hands, procrastinating . . . finally, he had to go. He gave me his number and I gave him his. He kissed my cheek and was gone.

    You want to know the best part of it all? He called the next morning. The next morning. He apologized for coming across as desperate, but he just really wanted to see me again. He’s taking me out to dinner tonight and I’m so nervous. Lennon’s coming over later to help me find something to wear.

    To be honest, Fin, it’s kind of scary. Yeah, I loved you, but . . . I’ve never liked someone as initially I like Scott. And I’m scared he’s going to hurt me. But at the same time, I’m ready to love someone again, to not be alone anymore. And Scott makes me feel good and that’s more than enough for me at the moment.

    And with that . . . it’s time for me to let these letters go.

    The reason I’ve been avoiding writing these letters is because I knew that when I started, I would have to say goodbye. This isn’t about Scott; this is about more than that. For once, this is about me and what I want.  These letters connect me to the past, which for a long time I needed, but now I’m ready to let them go. To let you go.

    I don’t know what’ll happen to these letters. Maybe I’ll throw them away, maybe I’ll burn them, or maybe they’ll stay hidden in a box that my grandchildren might find one day, or maybe just maybe I’ll send them to you. I don’t know yet.

    I don’t know about a lot of things, but for the first time, that’s okay. And I’m excited. And . . . I love you, Fin, okay? Never doubt that. But, to quote you, you just aren’t the one.

    Goodbye, Finland Erickson.

    With all my love,

    Annalise.

*

Hey Reader!

    Notice: asdfghjkl. I've just finished writing the last chapter of this story, I just want to cry all over the place. I really can't handle this. This is true pain, you know. Remember to add your thoughts on the theme, for the writer of the most interesting one will have the next and final chapter dedicated to them. Also, tell me your thoughts on Scott XD

    Chapter's Song: "Tell Me a Story" by Phillip Phillips. This song is perfect for just so many reasons . . . one, I love Phillip Phillips, he's just asdfghjkl. Also, this song is about how hope and love and life can perceived, in this beautiful balanced lyric which I really adore.

     Thanks for reading! Show this chapter some love and I'll update soon.

    Love Your Favorite Liar <3