Mitya - Love Letter

The grand setting of Snezhnograd was not new to you, and it was always a pleasant landscape to you. However, your time to admire the scenery was cut short as you quickly remember your job as a mail person. Of course, messages wait for no one.

Gathering the several scrolls, envelopes, and boxes into your messenger bag, a certain letter stood out from the rest. It had no envelope, no wax seal, or any kind of hint on who it would be delivered to. Desperate to get your job done as soon as possible, you unfold the parchment on the search for a clue on who would receive this.

Your eyes began to scan the page, and the pulse beneath your wrist rapidly increased it’s pace in your fluster. This letter was written by the young genius Mitya, coincidentally, you secretly admired him from afar; his presence in a room truly stood out to you, and he was impossible to ignore. Not because he was weird, but because he has a certain handsomeness in his features that you can’t find in others.

The letter proved that he truly was impossible to look at and move on. This letter was a confession of love; heartfelt, messy, but sincere. Curiosity got the best of you.

On the worn parchment, the words were written; *”Good morning, dear. I had originally intended to write something concise. Something elegant. Perhaps three or four sentences would have been sufficient.

Unfortunately, I have discovered that this is considerably more difficult than expected.

You see, whenever I try to explain why I care about you, I find myself thinking of entirely unrelated things. The way you laugh. The expressions you make when you’re concentrating. The strange little habits you’ve probably never realized I noticed. I’ve attempted to determine precisely when this happened.

I haven’t reached a satisfactory conclusion. Perhaps that is the problem with people. We aren’t particularly scientific creatures. There is no formula that explains why one person becomes more interesting than every other person in the room. No equation that adequately describes why I find myself wanting to tell you about every ridiculous thought that crosses my mind.

And yet, somehow, you became the person I look for first. I suppose that’s my conclusion, I like having you around. More than I probably should, and more than I initially intended.

So, rather than attempting to formulate another complicated explanation, I’ll simply say it plainly, I care about you. Very much.

And if you don’t mind, I’d like to continue discovering all the little things that make you you.

Yours, Mitya.”

Some words were smudged against the paper, but they carried so much meaning. You could easily tell that the letter was written with someone dear in mind. However, one thing; you didn’t know who would receive it. It could be Odette, Vodyanitsa, or anyone. It only left one question in the back of your mind, who could the lucky lady, or man, be?

The theater of Snezhnograd was filled to the brim with people who were eager to watch Odette and Vodyanitsa’s performances. The performance went on smoothly, Odette was as graceful as ever, and Vodyanitsa was very expressive in her song. As the splendid lights dimmed, and the music toned down, the grand theater of Snezhnograd slowly emptied as the final performance came to an end. Outside, the streets were blanketed in fresh snow, while warm golden light spilled from the theater’s tall windows and illuminated the gathering crowd that was slowly dispersing as they headed home.

You, too, were about to head home after your eyes had slowly dropped in fatigue of keeping them open for too long. However, you knew you would sleep well after witnessing such a grand performance.

As you were about to turn on your heel and head to the direction of your inn, you jumped slightly after being startled by someone behind you. You recovered quickly, though. Having registered that it was just Mitya.

“Ah, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you, but at least you’re energized again...?” The scholar blurted out. Rubbing the back of his neck, he then mustered up the courage and brought out a fragrant, folded sheet of parchment. It was obvious that it had been well used and that very meaningful words were used to write whatever was expressed inside. “Sorry to trouble you right after that performance... but when you’re on duty, please check the recipient and let them read this letter. I spent a long time writing this.” He said shyly, as if he wanted to leave and disappear into his study to research from the sheer boldness of his request.

Seeing you nod however, his uncertainty quickly turned into joy, and he grinned. His expression alone could let you know that he was grateful. You could tell that he was happy after that encounter, but you didn’t know why.

However, when you arrived at your doorstep, your face contorted with confusion as you saw that no recipient was stated. Was this letter made for you, or did he forget to mention who it was for? You couldn’t tell, though. Until you found out, the contents of the letter would be unknown, respecting his privacy.

The grand theater of Snezhnograd was still buzzing with life even after the curtains had fallen. The audience had begun to disperse into the snowy streets, while backstage, performers and staff were busy removing costumes, gathering props, and discussing the evening’s performance.

Alongside Odette and Vodyanitsa, you were one of the theater’s regular performers, often taking the stage whenever an occasion called for it. Tonight had been no different. After changing out of your costume, you returned backstage to collect your belongings when you noticed an unfamiliar envelope resting neatly on the table. Your name wasn’t written on it. Instead, written on the fragrant paper was simply; “For my favorite performer.” And the sender was none other than the brilliant mind, Mitya.

You stared at it, that wasn’t really a helpful hint. A few of the other performers gathered around, equally curious. Odette tilted her head at the envelope while Vodyanitsa immediately began wondering aloud who could possibly have sent it. Nobody seemed to know who it was for.

A few minutes later, just as you were about to leave, footsteps echoed along the hallway, accompanied by a familiar voice’s humming.

The young genius was known to visit the theater whenever he claimed he needed “inspiration,” and he had certainly been present for tonight’s performance. But this time, he didn’t just visit. He actually had the audacity to go backstage and sneak that letter inside.

Equally exasperated at the sheer boldness of what the scholar did, the theater’s director let out a loud, weary sigh. He soon spotted Mitya, who finally arrived backstage. Once he and Mitya met eyes, Mitya’s giddyness was quickly morphed into quiet hopefulness that his token of appreciation could finally be given to who he intended to receive it.

“Hey, Director, did you give them my letter?” He asked the director, looking up at him with childish hopefulness and an annoyingly happy smile.

The afternoon was unusually peaceful, the snow outside falling gently against the windows of Mitya’s research quarters. You had been invited over by Mitya himself, which was already enough to pique your curiosity. He had insisted that you come by when you were free, promising that he had discovered something particularly interesting and, as usual, had far too much to explain.

When you arrived, you found him waiting with an entire tea service already prepared. “Perfect timing!” Mitya greeted you with an unusually bright expression, gesturing toward the table. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

The room was filled with scattered papers, books, strange instruments, and several pages of neatly organized observations. Yet somehow, the tea had been prepared with remarkable care. “Sit, sit. You have to try this.” He poured you a cup before settling across from you, clearly excited. “I’ve been working on something for the past few days. I think I’ve finally reached a rather interesting conclusion, and I want you to be the first person to examine it.”

He reached beside him and picked up a folded piece of parchment. “I wrote everything down. The observations, the patterns, my conclusions, basically everything.” He placed it in your hands with an almost childlike enthusiasm.

“I spent quite a while making sure I didn’t leave anything out.” You unfolded the parchment, the handwriting was unmistakably his in each aspect. Slightly messy but neat, crooked, and slightly smudged. But the moment you read the first few lines, you quickly realized that this wasn’t even his observations.

”I’ve been trying to determine precisely when I began caring about you...”

You stopped, and slowly raised your head to look at him. You were bewildered by the sight of him sipping his tea, clearly oblivious that he actually handed you his declaration of love instead of his research.

And somehow, the young, brilliant genius sitting across from you had mistaken his most personal love confession for the notes he’d intended to show you, his beloved colleague.

“Is it interesting?” Mitya leaned forward expectantly. “I spent quite some time on it.”