I saw her long before she ever spoke to me.
She sat near the window, always ten minutes early, like she didn't want to be noticed—but also didn't want to be late. She had this way of leaning on one elbow when she wrote, head tilted, eyebrows scrunched like the world was whispering secrets to her notebook.
I never meant to take her seat.
But that day, I needed the window.
It was the day I got the call.
The kind of call that makes your ears ring.
The kind that reminds you the people you love aren't always promised.
I walked to class without hearing anything around me. I didn't even realize where I sat until she came up next to me.
"You're in my spot," she said.
Soft voice. Not angry—just surprised.
I looked up, and for the first time, I saw her up close.
Big brown eyes. Hair that didn't try too hard. A crease between her brows that made her look thoughtful, even when she was annoyed.
She expected me to move.
I didn't.
"I like windows," I said.
It came out flatter than I meant it to. But I couldn't bring myself to explain. Not today. Not with that call still echoing in my head.
She sat two seats down. I could feel her glance at me once or twice. But I kept my head down and pretended to write.
Truth was, I'd already filled half this notebook with thoughts I'd never say out loud.
Not anymore.
After that, it became routine.
I got there first. She sat two seats over.
We didn't speak.
But I started noticing more.
The way she hummed under her breath sometimes when the room got quiet.
The way she chewed on the end of her pen when she was thinking.
And those flowers—always drawn in the corners of her pages. Little wild things. Never neat, never planned. Just… growing.
They reminded me of someone who used to do the same.
My mom.
I wasn't planning to say anything.
I didn't talk to people unless I had to.
But when she dropped her pen, I picked it up without thinking.
And the words came out.
"You always draw flowers in the corners."
Her eyes widened. She looked surprised. Maybe flattered. I don't know.
"You noticed?"
I nodded.
"They're kind of messy... but nice."
And that was it.
I don't know why I said it.
Maybe because I needed to say something.
Maybe because she was the first person in weeks who made me forget, even for a second, that my life was slowly falling apart.
She didn't ask my name.
I didn't ask hers.
But something passed between us.
And for the first time in a long while,
I wondered what it might feel like
to let someone back in.
Even if just a little.
August's Notebook – Page 47
I sit in the same seat every day.
She used to sit by the window too.
My mom.
She said the light made everything feel less heavy.
That classroom isn't warm.
But the sun hits that one spot just right.
And now someone else sits there.
Or… used to.
She looked surprised when I didn't move.
I didn't mean to be cold. I just didn't know what to say.
Then she dropped her pen.
And I noticed the flowers.
Just like the ones Mom used to draw when she couldn't sleep.
Like her hands needed to keep moving so the grief wouldn't catch up.
And Ginny draws them too.
Not perfect ones.
Little messy ones.
The kind people only draw when they're trying to hold it together.
I haven't talked to anyone in weeks.
But I told her I noticed.
I don't know why I said it.
Maybe I needed her to know I see her.
Even if I don't want her to see me.