Hey, Donnan. I'm pretty sure I'll be gone by the time you get to read this letter but I hope you get to read it anyway. I must say, we do crazy things in the name of love but I did things I can't excuse love for.
That night in Brixton while we were waiting for a train, I saw you first.
You seemed unreal, like boys that exist only in books. Your eyes were as vibrant as the morning clouds, your lips somehow called my name without actually doing so, your skin lighted the atmosphere. I couldn't fathom how someone as ethereal as you could literally exist in real life. That night when my eyes caught you, I couldn't wander at anything else but you .
This is when it all started I guess; I fell in love with the eyes that weren't looking at me.
I missed my train on purpose so that I could gawk at you a bit longer. In fact, I never wanted that night to come to an end. I could've just stayed there for eternity staring at you.
I saw you coming towards me but I still couldn't stop staring, my heart stopped beating the moment I heard your terrific voice. "Hey, you're going to Merton right?"
Gosh! I remember how concerned you looked when I started stuttering and couldn't even answer your question, little did you know that I was merely trying to survive that incredible moment.
Clyde Donnan Connor, you are the bane of my mischief and the object of all my tragedy…
"The cops are here!" Taylor hollers from the door, snapping me out of my enthrallment in Liberty's letter. I quickly squeeze the letter into my pocket and turn to her.
"Alright, so this is it!" I sigh . She walks towards me with worry written all over her face. "Just be totally honest with them". She says as she holds my face in both her hands.
"I will" I assure her, kissing her forehead.
"Mr. Connor," the tall, dark and sturdy officer says, standing up and offering his hand for a shake. "Good day officer," I say, accepting his offer. I sat across from him, hoping the session would be over as soon as possible. Without any further pleasantries, he jumped right into asking me questions about when and how I first met Liberty —
CLYDE
Liberty and I first met six years ago, on October 7th, at Brixton train station. She had innocent doe eyes, thin, lustrous brows, and long, delicate lashes. Her face was striking, slender, with a pointed nose and an elegance that lingered. Her dark curly hair spilled over her shoulder, glowing in the soft light. Her caramel skin was velvety, as if telling the story of her rich heritage as a young black lady. She wasn't the kind of beautiful that simply caught your eye; she was the kind that held it, making it impossible to look away.
I noticed her staring at me, her gaze intense and searching, as if she recognized me or as if something was wrong. I can't quite explain with words what I felt at that moment, but it was an oddly familiar feeling…
I walked up to her. "You're going to Merton, right?" I asked, hoping to break the silence and ease the awkwardness creeping in.
She barely managed a response. "Y-yes, I... I am," she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
I smiled, hoping to ease the tension, but her hesitation was palpable. "That's cool," I said, my voice a little too loud in an attempt to fill the silence. "I'm headed there too…."
She nodded, but her eyes seemed distracted, as if she were trying to figure out whether she should engage or not. The awkwardness between us hung thick in the air. I could almost feel her unease, which only made me more self-conscious.
The next train arrived, and we boarded. She took the window seat, and I settled beside her. The silence between us felt heavy. I cleared my throat, but the sound seemed to hang in the air, swallowed by the silence. She gazed out the window, her eyes fixed on some point beyond the glass. I opened my mouth to speak but shut it again, unsure of what to say. I searched for the right words, something to ease the moment, to make her smile, or at least look at me without that distant, unreadable expression.
I exhaled softly and turned to her. "You look like you're seated next to a ghost," I said, my voice low but certain.
She finally looked at me, her eyes deep and searching, as if those words had unlocked something within her. Her eyes held a thousand unspoken things, emotions that flickered and faded too quickly for me to grasp.
"I'm sorry, you remind me of someone" she said, clearing her throat as her voice seemed to disappear with each word.
"I hope it's a good thing." I said.
And for the first time since we met, she smiled. Her smile was beautiful, like a sunrise over a serene lake. It didn't feel like the kind that was meant to be polite or forced, but the kind that felt like the first light of dawn; gentle, yet powerful..
"Yes, it's a good thing" she replied, still smiling
For a moment, it felt like the train, the city, the world itself had faded, leaving just the two of us suspended in time. But just as I was about to say something else, she turned her gaze back to the window, her fingers tracing an invisible pattern against the glass.
"You have the most beautiful smile I've ever seen" I said in a hushed tone, unable to contain the thoughts in my head.
Her fingers paused against the glass, her gaze still fixed on the moving world outside, yet I could tell she was no longer seeing the city blur past.
I smiled slightly, watching her profile, the way the dim train lights painted soft shadows on her skin. She turned to me, "No one has ever told me that before" with a light in her eyes as; bright as dawn.
"Then the world hasn't been paying attention," I said. "Because some things don't need to be spoken to be true."
She turned to me again, this time fully, her eyes searching mine as if trying to decide whether to believe me. There was something guarded about her, a quiet wall built over time, but for a moment, I thought I saw a crack in it.
The train rattled forward, and the gentle hum filled the space between us. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking. But I knew better than to push.
Instead, I asked, "Do you come to Merton often?" A safe question, something light, something that wouldn't scare her away.
She hesitated, then shook her head. "Not really," she murmured. "Just today. I—I needed to be somewhere different."
There was weight in her words, an unspoken meaning that made me curious. But before I could ask more, the train pulled into the next station. The doors slid open, and people shuffled in and out, their voices filling the carriage for a brief moment before the doors shut again.
She looked away, exhaling slowly, like she was trying to steady herself. "What about you?" she asked, her voice barely above the hum of the train.
I leaned back, my hands resting on my lap. "I go where the day takes me," I said lightly, though I wasn't even sure if it was true.
She let out a soft, almost wistful chuckle. "That must be nice."
"It can be." I tilted my head slightly. "But I think it's even nicer when you have a reason to go somewhere. A purpose."
She nodded slowly, her fingers returning to the window. "Yeah," she whispered. "I think so too."
"So," I said, tilting my head toward her. "If you don't usually come to Merton, what made today different?"
She hesitated, her fingers still tracing invisible shapes against the glass. "I needed a change," she finally admitted. "Sometimes, when life starts feeling too predictable, I just... go. No plan, no destination. Just somewhere different."
I nodded, understanding more than I let on. "I get that. Some places hold too much of the past. Sometimes, you need to step outside of what's familiar to remember who you are."
She turned to me, a flicker of surprise in her eyes, like she hadn't expected me to understand. "Exactly," she murmured.
There was a pause, not awkward but full, like we were both measuring the weight of our own thoughts.
"What about you?" she asked. "Do you always go where the day takes you?"
I chuckled. "Something like that. I used to be the type who planned everything down to the minute. But then I realized life doesn't care about our schedules. So now, I let the world surprise me."
A small smile touched her lips. "And has it?"
I met her gaze. "Today, yes."
Something flickered in her expression. Something soft, almost fragile. She looked away again, but I could tell she wasn't retreating this time.
We talked more, slipping into stories about childhood, our favorite places, the little things that made us who we were. She told me about the books she loved but rarely finished, about how she always found herself watching the sunset, no matter where she was.
I told her about my habit of wandering into bookstores just to breathe in the scent of old pages, about the time I tried to learn the guitar and failed miserably. And then, without thinking much of it, I said, "I enjoy photography too."
She perked up at that, tilting her head slightly. "Photography?"
"Yeah," I nodded. "I love capturing moments—things most people wouldn't even notice. A quiet street after the rain, the way light falls through a window, the expression someone makes right before they smile."
"That sounds... beautiful," she murmured, as if the thought had never really occurred to her.
"I'm actually going to the museum tomorrow," I added. "For a little inspiration."
She raised a brow, curious. "What kind of inspiration?"
I exhaled, thinking. "Sometimes, when I feel stuck, I look at paintings. The way artists see the world, the colors they choose, the emotions they pour into their work... It helps me see things differently through my camera."
She was quiet for a moment, studying me. "I never thought of photography that way," she admitted. "Like painting with light."
I smiled. "Exactly."
She nodded slowly, then hesitated before saying, "I have to admit, when I first saw you... I thought you were a ghost."
I frowned slightly. "A ghost?"
She let out a soft, nervous chuckle. "Not literally. But you looked so familiar, and for a second, I thought... well, it was silly."
I tilted my head. "Who did I remind you of?"
She looked down at her hands, her fingers idly playing with the strap of her bag. "Someone very special," she finally said. "It caught me off guard, that's all."
I wanted to ask more, but something in her expression told me not to push. So I simply nodded. "I guess I'll take that as a compliment, then."
A small, almost sad smile crossed her lips. "Yeah," she whispered. "You should."
The train began to slow, the soft screech of metal on metal signaling our stop. I glanced up at the station sign before turning back to her.
And then it hit me.
I had just spent the last forty eight minutes unraveling pieces of her life, and yet—
"I don't even know your name," I said, laughing at the absurdity of it.
She blinked, as if realizing the same thing at that exact moment.
The train came to a full stop, the doors sliding open. Passengers shuffled past us, some hurrying out, others stepping in. She stood up, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
I followed, stepping onto the platform beside her. "Well?" I prompted, grinning. "Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?"
She turned, walking backward as she smirked at me, teasingly withholding the answer. The crowd between us thickened, people moving in different directions, and just as I lost sight of her for a second, I heard her voice—soft, playful.
"Liberty."
And then she turned away, disappearing into the sea of travelers.
For a moment, I stood frozen, her name lingering in my mind like the final note of a song. Then, before I even had time to think, I found myself moving and pushing past the crowd, my voice rising above the station noise.
"Liberty!"
She turned halfway, her eyes meeting mine from across the distance, her soft smile lingering on her lips was the last thing I saw before she disappeared into the distance.
And just like that, I knew this wasn't the last time I'd see her.
This was only the beginning.