Every morning, she woke up and left the house, skipping breakfast.
She walked all the way to high school and sat in front of the main door.
She opened her bag and pulled out a book. It was always the same since months ago.
The Great Gatsby.
She opened it on page 106 and read. And waited.
Six minutes later, punctual as a clock, he arrived.
He walked straight to the main door and leaned a shoulder on the wall, next to her.
Every day the same routine.
YOU ARE READING
Sadness
Short StoryHe was broken. She was, too. She wanted to fix him. Maybe she was the only one who could.
