Chapter Text
October 5th
Dear Yotha,
I don't know how to start this. I've rewritten this letter more times than I can count, and every version sounds wrong. The truth is, I don't know if there's any right way to write to someone who still has a brother when you've spent the years learning to live without yours, so I'll tell you the truth.
The day Faifa died, I was the one who found him. If any part of Wine's insane plan works, then maybe you can stop that day from ever existing. I still remember everything: knocking on his apartment door, calling his phone, feeling annoyed because he wasn't answering, thinking I'd drag him out to dinner and complain about him ignoring everyone again. I remember using the spare key, walking inside, seeing him, and I remember the exact moment my entire world ended.
There are memories you never escape, no matter what people say about time healing everything. It doesn't heal this. Years later, I still wake up hearing myself scream, unable to walk into that apartment building. There are moments when I expect my phone to light up with some stupid message from him asking if I've eaten. A part of me is still kneeling on that floor, and I don't know if that part of me ever stood up again.
What destroys me every day is that I was his brother. Brothers are supposed to protect each other, to be the person they could come to when things get bad, but somehow a stranger did more for him than I ever did. His name was Wine. You haven't met him yet, or maybe you have. If you have, keep him close, because one day that boy will love our brother with everything he has, and through him, I learned things about Faifa that I should have known myself.
Wine told me about the nightmares, the self-hatred, the way Faifa apologised for existing, how he'd convinced himself that everyone would be happier if he disappeared, the way he never believed he deserved the same kindness he gave everyone else. I remember sitting there listening to Wine talk about my own brother and thinking: how do you know him better than I do? How did I miss this? How did I not see him drowning?
The answer is simple. Faifa never let us, and I didn’t try hard enough to look deeper. I thought I knew him, that he was happy, outgoing, kind, and naturally selfless. I thought that was just who he was. I didn't understand that every smile was work, each joke was armour, and every time he said "it's okay," he was teaching himself to need less.
I didn't understand the scale of what happened to him when he lived with our mother, but if I could go back and change one thing, it would be this. Our mother hurt him far more than he ever admitted, more than I ever realised. For years, I told myself she'd done her best, I defended her, thinking that forgiving her was the right thing. Maybe I didn't want to believe someone could do that to a child, to our brother.
I knew he came back different, quieter, more careful, too eager to please, but I never understood why, not really. Then Wine told me things Faifa had never told me, things he carried alone, and suddenly every piece fit together: the smiling, the apologising, the way he'd accept being hurt if it meant someone else stayed happy, he'd rather suffer than inconvenience another person believing being loved was something he had to earn.
Our mother taught him that, not in one action or one moment, but over years. Years of making him feel like his needs came second, teaching him that being easy to love was safer than being honest, and I forgave her. I spent years trying to rebuild that relationship while my brother was silently falling apart.
If there is another chance, choose him, not her. Choose him every time. If she asks for understanding at his expense, choose him. If she asks for forgiveness while he's still bleeding from what she did, choose him. If saving Faifa means seeing her for who she really is, then open your eyes and do it, because I would trade every conversation I've had with her for one more day with him, one more chance to tell him I knew how much he mattered.
You need to tell him that every day. I don't care if he rolls his eyes or complains; tell him anyway. Tell him you love him, that he's your brother, and you're proud of him. Make sure he doesn't have to earn his place in this family, that he can be angry, hurt, difficult or needy, and you'll still stay. Tell him every day, because I thought he knew, and now I spend every day wishing I'd said it more.
Wine asked all of us to write these letters. He said that maybe, if we all changed enough, if we all became better at loving him, then maybe Faifa would have a reason to keep trying, to find a future worth staying for. I don't know if that's how any of this works. I don't know if timelines can change or if the universe gives second chances, but if you're reading this, then maybe it does.
So listen carefully. Put down your pride and your assumptions and stop believing you'll always have tomorrow. Look at him, see the hurt, the exhaustion, the parts he hides, and love him anyway. Love him enough that one day he finally believes he deserves it.
Because if there is a world where Faifa gets to live where he graduates, falls in love, grows old, and gets to see the life he was supposed to have, then I need you to protect that world.
Please save our baby brother this time.
— Yotha
October 1st
Dear Gun,
If this letter reached you, then somehow Wine's plan worked. I don't know if that should make me hopeful or hurt even more. By the time you're reading this, Faifa is probably still alive. I know that sounds strange to say about someone who, for you, is probably sitting somewhere right now annoying Yotha or stealing food off someone's plate, but for me it has been years since I heard his laugh, since he smiled at me and I smiled back without realising it would be one of the last times, years I had to look at his photograph above a mantle as we prayed for his soul to live freely in his next life. I wish I could tell you that time makes grief easier, but it doesn’t; instead, you just learn how to breathe around it.
The reason I'm writing isn't actually Faifa, though I suppose everything eventually becomes about him. I'm writing because of Yotha. I need you to be there for him, to love him enough for both of us.
After Faifa died, Yotha broke in ways I didn't think were possible. At first, he was angry: at everyone, at himself, at the world, at Faifa, but I think he hated himself most of all. He kept saying he should have known, that he was his brother, that brothers are supposed to know when something is wrong.
I don't think he slept properly for months. He'd wake up crying and pretend he hadn't, spend hours staring at old photos, and sometimes I'd find him sitting outside Faifa's room just looking at the door, as if part of him still expected it to open, as if he could somehow go back and stop it. The worst part was that he genuinely believed he had failed him. I spent years trying to convince him otherwise, and I never succeeded.
So please, when things get difficult, stay by his side. When he pushes you away or gets angry, please stay with him. When he blames himself, remind him that loving someone and understanding their pain are not the same thing. Tell him he was a good brother because one day he'll need to hear it.
Wine had asked everyone to say, "Please notice Faifa this time." Look for the quiet moments, how he hides his injuries, the exhaustion that never leaves, moments he laughs a second too late.
Please don't crowd him. The more trapped Faifa feels, the more he'll retreat behind that smile. He hates making people worry; he thinks it makes him a burden. If he thinks you're watching him too closely, he'll only get better at hiding.
You don’t need to ask questions; rather, just sit beside him when he's quiet and make room for him to tell the truth, because none of us did, or maybe we did see it and just convinced ourselves it wasn't that bad. Maybe we thought there would always be tomorrow. There wasn't.
I need you to understand something. Faifa didn't die because nobody loved him. Everyone loved him: Wine, Yotha, Arm, Arc, and me. We all did. The problem was that he couldn't feel it, not fully, not enough to outweigh everything else, and by the time we realised that, we were too late.
Wine asked us all to write these letters. I think part of him knows we can't change our timeline, but if in another world, we can save him, I want to try. He said something I can't stop thinking about: maybe we don't have to save Faifa ourselves; rather, all we have to do is change enough things that Faifa finds a reason to save himself, a reason to keep trying, to believe tomorrow is worth seeing.
So that's what I'm asking you to do. Not save him, just love him loudly enough that he can hear it. Be his friend and family. Be annoying, invite him places, drag him out of his condo, make him laugh, tell him he's important and when he doesn't believe you, tell him again, because if you're reading this, there's still time, and I'd give anything for that.
Take care of Yotha. Take care of Faifa. And if somehow this works, if somehow he stays, then tell him something for me: tell him I miss him. Every day.
— Gun
October 8th
Dear Arm,
I know that you must be confused about how the letter reached you; maybe you're expecting something dramatic, a warning, a date, a list of things to stop, but I wish it were that simple. The truth is that at the time you're reading this, the disaster hasn't happened yet, and that's the worst part, because when it does, none of us realises we're losing more than one person. We lose all of us.
You know how everyone jokes about the "perfect 10-liners" that we're always together, how somebody is constantly spamming the group chat, every dinner somehow turns into six hours, and that nobody can leave without someone else tagging along? You take that for granted right now. I thought we'd always be like that, that we'd graduate and still meet every week, that we'd be standing at each other's weddings, growing old together, and that our bond was unbreakable. I was wrong.
The day Faifa died at the end of your 3rd year wasn't the day the group ended. The group survived for a while, at least on paper. The chat stayed active, people still sent messages, and we still met up occasionally, but there was a hole in the middle of everything, and eventually we all got tired of pretending it wasn't there.
Nobody left all at once. People drifted slowly and painfully, like a rope fraying one strand at a time. Gun threw himself into looking after Yotha because I don't think he knew what else to do; watching Yotha grieve was like watching someone drown in slow motion, so Gun stayed beside him and forgot how to take care of himself.
Arc became quieter than usual because neither of us knew how to hold on to everyone else. Sometimes grief looks like someone speaking less and less until you suddenly realise you haven't heard them laugh in months.
Yotha blamed himself, and I don't think that ever stopped. Every conversation somehow circled back to what he should have noticed, what he should have done, and what kind of brother misses something like that. We all spent years trying to convince him otherwise, and it never truly reached him.
And Wine... please, you need to look after Wine. I'm serious, read this part twice. Everyone keeps talking about saving Faifa, helping Faifa, protecting Faifa, and they're right, but nobody talks about what it costs Wine. I don't think any of us understood that until later.
Wine carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. Every bad day Faifa had felt like a personal failure, every smile felt like proof he was doing something right, and every setback terrified him. He loved Faifa so much that he forgot he was allowed to be scared too.
Afterwards, he looked like someone had ripped half his soul away. I remember finding him sitting outside the dorms one night, just sitting there, not moving or crying, just staring, and for a second, I genuinely thought he hadn't recognised me. That's how empty he looked.
The thing about Wine is that he'll keep giving until there's nothing left. He'll pour every piece of himself into someone else if he thinks it'll help, so don't let him. Support him too. Make him rest, make him laugh, let him complain, help him live his life as an eighteen-year-old, because he can't save somebody if he destroys himself first.
While we're talking about things nobody notices, Faifa needs more than Wine. Wine isn't supposed to carry this alone. That's where you come in. I don't think you realise it yet, but you're the reason everyone keeps ending up in the same room, why group chats stay active, dinners happen, and why nobody can go a week without seeing each other. Half the time, people pretend they're annoyed about it. Ignore them. Keep doing it anyway because after Faifa died, I realised something: belonging isn't built from big moments. It's built from a thousand stupid little ones from the late-night food runs, movie nights, study sessions, random messages, and just being included.
Faifa always acted like he was already part of the group, but looking back, I don't think he ever fully believed it, not deep down. I think there was always a part of him waiting for permission to stay, waiting for somebody to realise he didn't belong and send him away.
So don't give him room to think that. Keep inviting him, making excuses to meet, and being annoying about it. If he says no, ask again. If he disappears, find him. If he claims he's busy, tell him he can be busy after dinner. Make him part of the routine, part of the family. Show him there's a place where he's expected, where he's wanted, and that people would notice when he's missing.
I think that's what hurts most about our timeline. It's not that we didn't love him; the tragedy is that he never fully understood how much, and by the time we realised that, we couldn't tell him anymore.
Wine asked all of us to write these letters. I don't know if they'll work, if the future can change, or if any of us deserve a second chance, but if you're reading this, maybe we've been given one anyway.
So here's what I need you to do: keep the group together. Even when everyone is busy, keep making plans and dragging everyone with you, because one day you'll realise those ordinary moments were never ordinary at all and take care of Wine. Look out for Faifa.
Take care of all of them because in my timeline, we lost one person, and somehow that became losing all of us. Don't let that happen again.
— Arm
October 8th
Arc,
I'm not good at writing letters, though you already know that. Arm said I should write more, and I told him that if I needed more than one page to make a point, then it probably wasn't a very good point. He called me an idiot, so I guess some things don't change.
For the record, we're still together, in case you were wondering. Years later, he's still annoying, still steals food off my plate, talks too much, and somehow manages to get me involved in things I don't want to do. I still love him, though, so at least we didn't lose everything.
I should probably start with the important part: Faifa passes away at the end of his second year at university. You may already know that if you're reading this, and hopefully the others will tell you what happened because they probably wrote a much better explanation in their letters than I ever could. I'm writing because there are things I never said, things I thought people already knew. Turns out that was a stupid assumption.
Faifa knew I cared about him, I think, but looking back, I wish I hadn't left him to guess. I wish I'd said it. I wish I'd told him he was a good kid, that he didn't need to smile all the time, and could ask for help if he needed it. I wish I'd reminded him to eat more and watched him more closely, the way you should when someone keeps pretending they're fine. I thought there would be time. There wasn't.
So say things out loud. That's my advice, and it's simple: if you care about someone, tell them. Don't assume they know, and don't wait. I did, and now I don't get another chance.
There's something else. The group falls apart. Life keeps moving; people stop calling, stop showing up, and one day you realise months have passed since everyone was in the same room. Somehow, that hurts almost as much.
Arm and I stay together. Gun and Yotha stay together. People keep living, but it never feels complete again. Sometimes I still look at old photos of the eight of us crammed around a table, everyone talking over each other, Faifa laughing, Wine smiling because Faifa was smiling, Arm trying to organise everyone, and nobody listening. Back then, I thought it was noisy; now I'd give anything to hear it again.
So here's what you need to do: show up. When Arm wants a group dinner, go. When somebody suggests a trip, go. When everyone is busy, go anyway. Make time. You'll think there'll always be another chance. There might not be.
Pay attention to Faifa. Not because he's fragile or that he needs protecting every second, but because sometimes the people who need help are the ones who look like they're doing fine.
One last thing: Wine is going to try to save everyone on his own. Don't let him. He won't ask for help, so help him anyway. The kid has already carried too much.
— Arc
P.S. Get Arm to take more pictures. Most of ours have Faifa in them, and I'm always thankful for that.