Dear Delia

By Kelly Esparza

Twenty-eight-year-old Delia Everly lived alone in her close-knit apartment. She had her small core group of friends and was very much a homebody. Her favorite and ideal activity of choice was watching rom-coms from the 1990s, where she claimed Meg Ryan was the absolute queen of rom-coms. Delia wrote a column of love stories for the local newspaper at work—“Dear Delia” was the name. Her friends always laughed and told her it was ironic she wrote about love, when she’d never experienced it for herself.

While she typed up another article for work on an early February afternoon, she heard someone knock on her front door. Delia stood from her desk and walked over, opening the door, only to find no one there. Looking each way and then down at the ground, she found a heart-shaped folded up piece of paper. Delia picked it up, unfolded it, and read: Dear Delia, I have seen you from afar, admired your work as a writer. I am a writer too but much shyer than you.

The note was short and straight to the point, yet it was not signed. Still, the little note made her day; she knew she was making an impact with her love column and that maybe someone else was an admirer—a secret one at that.

The next few days were the same. Someone would knock on Delia’s front door, but no one would be standing outside. Notes stuck on the ground or were taped to the door. It became a fun little ritual every day, as she eagerly read each note. Some of them were as follows:

Dear Delia, I’m sitting out in the crisp winter air, thinking about you. I saw you take a walk today. Your eyes are as radiant as diamonds, and you have such a beautiful smile that I would recognize anywhere.

Dear Delia, I saw you out reading by the sycamore tree. I couldn’t see the title of the book, but you looked so engrossed, I wanted to know. I wanted to know what stories you liked. I want to know you.

Dear Delia, I wish I could come forth and meet you, but I believe there is magic in words, and I hope these notes brighten your day, your world.

It had been almost two weeks since Delia received her first secret message, so on February 13th, she decided to write the mysterious admirer a note back. That morning, she left a piece of notebook paper folded in half that said, Dear Secret Admirer, Thank you for your notes. They do brighten my day, and I often look forward to reading your messages. I don’t know who you are or why you decided to write to me, but I am thankful for the interaction and would love to know who you are someday.

The truth was, Delia liked it. The notes made her feel special and as if she were partaking in an activity that only she and the person who wrote the notes knew. A few hours after she set the note down, she heard that all-too-familiar knock. Scooting out of her desk chair, she rushed to the door, flinging it open and bending down to retrieve the note. This time, it read: Dear Delia, I think I want to summon up the courage and meet you tomorrow on Valentine’s Day. If you would like, meet me out front your door, and I will meet you there at noon.

Delia paused. Should she meet the stranger who left her sweet notes?

The next day, Delia was a bundle of nerves. She struggled to sit still and to focus on her work. Anticipation chewed her up from the inside, and when it was noon, she hopped up so fast from her chair, striding quickly to the door. She opened it and stepped outside into the hallway. For once, there was no note outside. Her heart pounded in her chest.

A minute later, the apartment next to her opened, and out came a man who looked to be around her age. He had dark brown hair, like her own and sapphire blue eyes that smiled behind oval blue-rimmed glasses. He wore a gray long-sleeve shirt and dark jeans and sneakers. He cleared his throat. “It’s Delia, isn’t it?” The corners of his lips turned upward, his mouth opening to reveal his pearly white teeth. How could someone she’d interacted with only live a door away? They shared walls.

She nodded and tilted her head. “And you’re my secret admirer?”

“Yes, I’m Milo.” He paused. “I’m sorry I didn’t initially reach out. I just…I didn’t know how to approach you exactly.”

“It’s okay. This was better in a way,” she replied, smiling. She tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear.

“Do you maybe want to get some lunch?” he asked.

Delia bit her lip and nodded, showing him a wide grin. “I’d love to.”

***

Delia stared at her wedding photo, of Milo and her gazing into each other’s eyes full of love. Milo had worn a black suit, and she wore a white veil and a white, lacey strapless dress. Her eyes scanned to the framed notes Milo had written so long ago. The two of them had been through a lot. Dated for five years. Got married. Had a daughter and watched her grow up. Wrote a book together and got it published. Milo wrapped his arms around Delia from the back, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“Happy anniversary, love,” Delia said, breaking into a smile. She was a few years shy of turning 80 years old, and her skin and Milo’s were covered in wrinkles, both of their hair thinning and gray.

Milo moved in front of Delia and held her hands in his. “I’m as happy today as I was to marry you 45 years ago. You are my happiness. You’ll forever be my dear Delia.”

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Kelly Esparza is an editor and writer who holds a BA in English and a BA in Creative Writing from the University of Arizona. Her romantic short fiction has appeared in Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine and Dwelling Literary. Her YA romantic short story, “Destiny Says,” was nominated for a Pushcart Prize, and her YA romantic short story, “Take the Jump,” made the longlist for Voyage YA Journal’s Anthology Contest. Find out more on her website: kellyesparza.wordpress.com and follow her on Twitter: @Kelly_Esparza7 and Bluesky: @kellyesparza.bsky.social.