reinhardwrites
Bryce didn't mean to fall in love with a stranger's handwriting.
When his family moves into an old house on Amparo Street, the last thing he expects to find behind his bed's headboard is a diary - faded pink, unicorn stickers peeling at the corners, dated more than twenty years ago. It belongs to a girl named Liezel, and somewhere between her lists of favorite foods and her complaints about her older brother, Bryce finds something he wasn't looking for: a love story she never had the courage to finish.
Three blocks away, she wrote about a boy named Philip. I love you too - as a friend, she wrote, twice, like she didn't believe it either time.
The more Bryce reads, the more he realizes this isn't just an old diary. It's a door - one that might still be open, twenty-two years later, if someone's brave enough to knock. And the closer he gets to finding out what happened to Liezel, the harder it gets to ignore the unsent messages sitting in his own drafts, waiting for a window across a different gap entirely.
Some confessions take twenty-two years. Some just take one message, finally sent.