The Fifth Letter

A story from Ariadne's life

My dearest Persephone,

I thought today I’d tell you a story, not about you or your father, but about me. You deserve to know the person behind the words you’ve been reading all these years.

When I was your age, I used to spend every afternoon sitting under a jacaranda tree near my school. Its flowers were the softest shade of purple, and when they fell, they covered the ground like a carpet. I’d sit there with my lunchbox, pretending to read but mostly just watching the petals fall. One day, it started raining while I was there. Everyone ran inside, but I stayed. I don’t know why. Maybe because I loved the way the rain sounded on the leaves, or maybe because I wanted to feel brave for once.

When I finally went back in, soaked to the bone, my teacher asked me what on earth I was doing sitting outside alone in the rain. I told her I was learning what it felt like to be part of something bigger than myself. She laughed, but she didn’t scold me. Instead, she handed me her scarf and said, “Then you’d better learn to take care of yourself too.”

I never forgot that. I think that’s when I started writing, to make sense of what I felt and to hold on to the moments that made me who I am.

So if you ever find yourself sitting alone somewhere, watching the world move around you, know that you got that from me. And maybe, when it rains, you’ll think of me and smile.

Love always,

Ariadne