AN: Hi there! :)
The idea of this story from a prompt of otppromts on Tumblr.
I somehow believe this is a weird prequel of YHTMM. Yeah, my brain confuses me sometimes.
Hope you can consider this as a way to kill time. I'm sorry if this makes you uncomfortable.
You love Spemily and I love you.
Pretty Little Liars is not mine. If it's mine, you'll know. (Full of Spemily of course)
Spencer was typing. There was nothing strange about that. She was a writer, a writer that still hadn't earned even a little bit of money from her pieces, but yes, that was her job. The only thing that could catch your eyes was she was typing with her typewriter. In the era of technology, using a computer must be so much easier for someone who had to write a lot like her. And yet, the girl still chose to use this old, complex, unusual equipment to finish writing down her mind.
Was she silly?
No.
That was a sign telling that she was writing a letter for Emily. The one who had given Spencer this typewriter. Spencer loved to use it. She loved the sound whenever a piece in her head finally took shape on the white paper. Slowly, carefully and peacefully. This didn't have an undo button. Everything she wanted to say had to be thought thoroughly. It wasn't so hard though. Spencer just needed to say the truth. And there was nothing that easier than telling the truth with the girl she loved.
Yes, Emily was the one. A friend, a supporter, a lover. She was all of them.
They had agreed that everyday Spencer would write a small letter for Emily and put it in their mailbox. They had even made another mailbox just for this little romance gesture. That confused the mailman times to times but he eventually got used to it. Never put their mails in the one on the right. Only Spencer was allowed to fill it.
What were in those letters, then? Nothing so special. Just like the one Spencer was typing.
Hey there, beautiful! I have good news today. I know my writing isn't enough to afford a fulfill life so I started to looking for another job. Don't worry! I'll never give up the dream of becoming a writer. I just need money to continue this life.
Guess what? I've got a job. I'm a barista now. Well, I'm going to be a barista tomorrow. That's really cool, huh? It's also the job you used to do. I still remember how excited you were when you finally served your first cup of coffee. As your first customer, I have to say the taste of it was just what I wanted.
I miss that.
That's all for now.
Love you. Always.
Spencer.
It had been a while since Spencer started her new job. Things began to feel normal. The money Spencer received wasn't enough to do anything big. It just helped her feeling less worry about tomorrow. Still worry but yes, less worry was all she needed now.
Having a difficult life but the writer never felt to be romance. There wasn't a day that she forgot to write to Emily. That was just a process of writing, walking to their mailbox and coming back their room but Spencer never missed it. Never.
After a long day of work, the writer sat on her usual working table. Like yesterday or the day before that, she wrote another letter for her girl.
Hey there, gorgeous! I don't have much thing to share today. I just want to tell you that I love you. So much. I think I'm going to be insane. Really, though. So today, I had several French customers. I overheard that they're from Paris. That was all I know and I immediately thought of you. I remember on our first date you said that you loved Paris and I bragged about whenever we got married, Paris would be our honeymoon's destination. I'm working on the money. Don't worry! I'll keep my promise. I will!
Love you. Always.
Spencer.
It was a normal day at the coffee shop. There were barely customers here right now. A young couple sat near the window got Spencer's attention. Apparently, they were talking about future's jobs and the girl seemed to want to be a writer. The guy didn't show any surprise, he questioned nicely.
"So imagine if you were a writer, what would you write about?"
Spencer instantly found herself wandering in her zone out space. She had asked Emily that question once. Their conversation replaying in the writer's head.
"What would you write about if you were a writer?"
The thing I love.
"…"
Wait a minute. I just figure out…
"What?"
I would have to keep writing sequels for my first book for the rest of my life since I have only one thing that I love and the names of my books would be weird.
"Okay, how weird?"
Spencer Hastings 1, Spencer Hastings 2, Spencer Hastings 3,…
The writer got home early today. She seemed really happy. Didn't bother to take off her clothes, Spencer came right away to her typewriter. There must be something she really wanted Emily to know.
Hey there, pretty girl! I'm so excited right now. No, I didn't drink too much coffee. Don't tease me! Okay, okay, I'll tell you. I've finally got my muse. You remember I said I had lost it for a long time? Yeah, it's back. I just figured out what can be in my next writing. You want to know? Don't need to use your puppy eyes. You know I'll tell you eventually.
It's you.
You will be in my next writing. We will be in my next writing. I can't believe all this time I haven't thought of it.
Remember the time when I asked you if you were a writer, what you would write about? Your answer still lingered in my mind. You kept listing the names of your sequels and I believed if I didn't kiss you at "Spencer Hastings 4" you would never shut your mouth. I'm happy, Emily. I'm going to write it down right after I finish this. I am.
Love you. Always.
Spencer.
Spencer was finding her way in a crowded street. This must be a busy day for everybody. After being bump into multiple times, the writer stepped to a new street in hope that could get her away from the crowd.
It did.
The street was pretty deserted. It wasn't a dangerous street though. It just happened to be the "high class" street. Only rich people would have enough money to go and shop here. For a poor writer, it was a little strange for Spencer to find this street familiar. This street was where Spencer had secretly made a promise. Secretly. The memory came back to her vision.
Catching Emily was looking longingly at something in the store, Spencer quietly approach her. It was couple rings. A really nice designed couple rings. As the girl still didn't know her presence, Spencer hugged her from behind, curiously asked.
"You want this?"
Emily jumped at the voice, turned back immediately. The girl faked a hiss.
"What? No."
"Really?" Spencer raised her voice, spoke in a playful tone. Her eyes was narrowing. That was a sign that she didn't find any truth in Emily's previous words.
"Yes. I actually was looking at this glass. Look! It's so shiny. I wonder what glass cleaner they are using. I can use it for our house."
Again, there was no truth in Emily's words. But Spencer couldn't find it in her heart to unmask her. There was no way Spencer could afford these rings and Emily knew it. Spencer knew Emily knew it. Spencer knew Emily didn't want to upset her. Her girl was an understanding person. Despite how much Emily wanted the rings, she would never say it. The writer was thankful she had a chance to encounter Emily in her life. They were both poor but somehow they could manage to live a happier life than others. And so, Spencer let the fun cover this situation.
"You really want to know that?"
"Yeah…" Emily replied cautiously, sensing something unexpected in Spencer's mind.
The writer grinning slyly, walking to the store, leaving a clueless Emily behind. It didn't take long though. The guard kicked her out minutes later. Emily caught her whilst Spencer started to argue with the guy.
"What? I just want to know what glass cleaner your store using. My girlfriend finds this glass shinier than ours."
Spencer regretted instantly. The man stepped inside and led out a really, really huge Berger. Looked like he didn't like to answer that question. Spencer held Emily hand tightly, ran away as fast as they could. Their laughter drew everyone's attention but they couldn't care less. This was it. The way they lived a happier life.
A genuine smile stretched onto Spencer's lips. She still had that promise. The rings. She would get them for Emily. But that would be something in the near future. Spencer had to get home now. Today was her big day and she wanted to tell Emily that.
Making herself comfortable as her usual writing position, the writer typed.
Hey there, sweetie! I'm a little nervous now. I handed it. I finally handed my piece to the publisher. They said they will call in a week. Though I have strong belief in this one, I'm still scared, Emily. I put my heart into it. I put you into it. I don't want to disappoint you. I really don't. I know, I know. You would never be disappointed. I just… Maybe I shouldn't think too much. If it's meant to happen, then it will happen. By any chance that I fail this time, I'll try again. Your Spencer is incredible. Don't worry, Emily!
Love you. Always.
Spencer.
She did it. Spencer ultimately did it. The publisher called after three days and everything was settled. They loved her book and they believed the world would love it too. They bought Spencer's pieces with the price that she could never imagine she had a chance to see it before she died.
And the publisher was right. The world was exploded by Spencer's love story. Boys, girls, moms, dads or even grandmas and grandpas from each corner on this country trying every day to have a copy of Spencer's book. They loved every detail in it. How they met, how they had fallen in love and how the book ended. They especially loved the typewriter's part. It was so sweet and it touched the darkest place in their souls. It gave them hope. There was still true love in this world.
Their hearts melt.
And Spencer eventually became a successful writer.
She became rich.
Did she change? Did she forget her secret promise?
No, she didn't.
The incredible writer was now standing in front of that familiar luxury jewels store. The rings was still there. Spencer was going to get them. These rings were for Emily. These rings were for Spencer's proposal. She got them in a surprising look of the guard. She didn't care though. She had been waiting for that moment.
Spencer walked out of the store in a rush. She wanted to be with Emily as soon as possible.
She finally arrived.
Standing in front of Emily, smiling, Spencer got down on one knee. Her hand trembling as she took out the ring's box. It was a little hard for her voice to escape her throat.
"Emily, will you marry me?"
…
…
There was silence. Lots of silences. The surroundings had no sound except the sound of Spencer who started sobbing.
"Emily! I finally got these rings for you. I have money now. A lot. I can take you to wherever you want. I can buy anything you love. I can do everything. We can finally get married. I made it, Emily. I made it. Can you please just say yes? Please? Emily, please!"
Spencer's question still left unanswered. The incredible writer sat flat on the ground, she held her chest tightly, her tears kept rolling down her cheeks.
Hours had passed.
Emily didn't reply. Emily couldn't reply.
How could she? The girl was now in heaven.
But Spencer didn't care. She wanted to marry this girl. She had planned this day for years. Today had to be the day.
The writer took out the other ring, put it on her finger while placing the one in the box on Emily's grave.
She said her vow. She was now married.
Somehow, that didn't satisfy her. Disappointed, bitter, angry. She was anything but a happy, successful, married writer. She wanted Emily to be here right now. She wanted to hug her so tight that she would never get out of her hold. She wanted to feel Emily's tears of joy rolling on the back of her shoulder. She wanted to be weak seeing those the puppy eyes again. She wanted to read all of Emily's potential "Spencer Hastings" books. She wanted to taste Emily's coffee once more time. She wanted to see Emily's shiny smile. She wanted to hear Emily's beautiful voice. She wanted...
The girl wanted so many things but she got so little.
She got nothing.
She worked so hard and she got nothing.
The anger had raised fiercely in her heart. She took back the ring on Emily's grave, ran to her car and drove home in a heartbeat. She walked pass the mailbox to get in the house.
Yes, she walked pass the Emily mailbox. The mailbox that had tons of white letters which had stopped being taken in the house by Emily for a really long time. It was a "one year, eleven months and seventeen days" long time. No one informed Spencer about the full mailbox. The girl would just ignore them and keep putting another white letter in it on the next day.
The neighbors felt sorry for her. The neighbors felt sorry for Emily. A lovely girl who had died when she saving two little kids from hitting by a bus. She had been so nice. She had been so young. They had been so happy. They had been so in love.
Spencer was still so in love.
The writer sat down on her seat, angrily typing a new letter. Each word hit the white paper aggressively.
"Emily Fields! I finally have these rings. I made it. I don't care who the hell you are going to be in your afterlife. Next time, YOU HAVE TO MARRY ME."
AN: Tell me what you think?