To Betty, Goodnight
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- Parts 4
I email Betty every night. It's become a nightly routine. She never replies, and I've stopped expecting her to, but the habit of writing has stuck. Over time, the emails turned into something more like a diary, a report-like I was hoping that, just as I typed in silence each night, she too sat somewhere, waiting, reading. Maybe she even began to type a reply. Maybe she'd write a word or two... then decide otherwise.
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Every morning, he buys coffee from his favorite shop. He always chooses the window seat because from there, he can see her - the girl with soft eyes and tangled hair, always scribbling something in her journal at the bench just outside. She never looked up much. She was always writing. Always alone. But she had this quiet presence that made him feel... calm. Like the world paused a bit when she was there. He started going earlier just to see her. He timed his coffee runs to match when she'd be there.
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