The scene shifts. Although Annie had already moved out of the little house by the sea, she still worried about the letter she left behind. If the new tenant hadn't seen it, no one would be able to forward her mail.
So she went back to the cottage and found it empty.
When she opened the mailbox, she was surprised: the white envelope she'd placed there was gone, replaced by a green one.
Who left this letter?
Curious, Annie opened it and saw Luke's handwriting.
Her first reaction was the same as his had been earlier: This isn't some prank, is it?
"It's 2001 right now," she wrote carefully. "I hope you're not playing a joke on me. Please don't mess with my important letters. And for the record—it's 2001."
The scene cuts quickly back and forth: Luke and Annie both sitting by the mailbox, writing and dropping letters inside.
"But it really is 1999," Luke wrote. "When you talk like this, it makes me think you're the one joking."
"Are you seriously living in 1999? That's ridiculous," Annie replied.
"I actually think it's even stranger that you're claiming to be from two years in the future. Can you prove it?" Luke asked.
Annie thought for a moment, then wrote: "If it's 1999 where you are, then in two days there'll be an unexpected heavy snowstorm—something the weather forecast won't mention. I caught a cold that day. Please dress warmly."
The next shot: two days later, Luke standing outside the cottage, watching huge snowflakes fall from the sky, thrilled.
He wrote back: "I'm starting to believe you're really from two years in the future."
But Annie answered coolly: "I still don't believe you're living in 1999—unless you can prove it too."
"How can I?" Luke asked.
"On November 30, 1999, at 9:20 p.m., I dropped a tape recorder at Grand Central Station. If you're truly two years behind me, you should be able to find it," Annie replied.
Luke rushed to the station. By the time he arrived, the train had just left—he didn't run into 1999's Annie.
Luckily, the tape recorder was still sitting on a bench.
He placed it into the mailbox.
When he opened it again, it was gone—and on the other side, Annie held the very tape recorder she'd lost two years before.
At last, they both believed it: the other person really was living in another time, and this mailbox connected their worlds.
From then on, they wrote like close friends, and their bond deepened.
One day Luke wrote: "Can I ask you a favor?"
"Tell me. I'll do my best," Annie replied.
"I'm embarrassed to say this, but my father and I haven't spoken in years—we're completely estranged. I heard he's seriously ill, but I still can't bring myself to visit. If he dies, though, I'll regret it."
"I understand. Leave it to me," Annie wrote back.
Later she wrote again: "I went to the address you gave me. Your father is very sick. He'll pass away in three days. If you don't want a lifelong regret, go see him one last time."
"Thank you," Luke replied. "You've saved me from a lifetime of guilt. At the end, we forgave each other, and I let go of my resentment. I'm so grateful to you."
"No need to thank me. But if you can… could you do something for me too?"
"Of course."
"My boyfriend left for another country two years ago. Today should be the day he departs. Can you ask him how he really feels about me? Why he left me here waiting two years without a word?"
At last Annie shared her own heartache—the man she'd been waiting for all this time.
"I'm sorry," Luke wrote. "I punched him. When he smirked and told me he was just playing with you, stringing you along, I lost my temper."
"Thank you…"
Annie's reply was just two words, but the tear stains on the paper were clear.
Across time, Luke could almost see the heartbroken young woman. She'd been waiting for her boyfriend all these years.
Now the truth was out, and her devotion felt like a cruel joke.
Everything she'd given seemed worthless.
"I know you must be hurting. You should take a walk to clear your head—I know a great place…" Luke wrote.
The next scene: Annie walking through a quiet grove filled with plum blossoms—Luke's favorite place.
Following his directions, she reached the spot. The beauty of it lightened her mood.
At the end of the path was a cozy little tavern.
She stepped inside, as Luke had suggested.
The owner saw her and smiled. "So you finally came."
"You were expecting me? You knew I'd come?" Annie asked in surprise.
"Two years ago Luke left a bottle of wine here," the owner said. "He told me that today a beautiful young lady would arrive. He wanted to share his favorite wine with you—he hoped it would make you happy."
The owner poured a glass and handed it to her.
Annie took a sip.
The fragrance of the wine soothed her soul, as though it washed away her years of heartache.
There's so much beauty in life—why cling to the past?
For the first time in days, a smile crept onto her face.
"Did you have fun today? Feeling any better?" Luke wrote in his next letter.
"I feel worse," Annie wrote. "I feel lonelier."
"How come?"
"I had a wonderful time today, but walking back alone, I felt sad. I wish you were here with me," Annie confessed.
"I wish I could appear before you too. I'd love to see you with my own eyes," Luke replied.
"Then let's meet!"
"Huh? That's impossible, isn't it?"
"Tomorrow. Tomorrow is December 15th. For me it's December 15, 2001. For you it's December 15, two years later. If you show up at the tavern on that day in your time, we'll meet there," Annie wrote excitedly.
"…" Luke didn't reply.
"What's wrong? You don't want to meet me?" Annie pressed.
"Of course I do. Honestly, I thought of this idea long ago," Luke finally wrote, his handwriting heavy, each stroke like a decision.
"Then why didn't you say it?"
"Because if we meet, I might lose you forever."