EPISODE 3: The Forgotten Notebook
519 Words
It had been three days since the rain, and Rasimie hadn’t seen Andrew again.
Not in class. Not in the cafeteria. Not under the tree where he usually sat.
She told herself it didn’t matter — that maybe he was just busy. But a small, restless ache grew inside her. She didn’t like how empty the campus felt without his quiet presence somewhere in the background.
That Thursday, she stayed late in the library, flipping through notes for an upcoming test. The building was nearly empty, the air humming with that special silence that came only when the world was winding down. She was about to leave when something caught her eye — a worn brown notebook sitting at the edge of her study table.
She opened it. The handwriting was neat, deliberate, and a little tired. Inside were lines that weren’t lecture notes at all. Words filled with feeling, thoughts scribbled between margins — like pieces of a person trying not to be seen.
“Sometimes silence feels safer than truth. Sometimes the only way to breathe is to disappear.”
The writing stopped there. Below it, in small letters, the name — Andrew L.
Her heart skipped. She closed the notebook carefully and clutched it to her chest.
She found him the next morning, near the old walkway that led behind the science block — half-hidden, sitting alone, sketching something on a small scrap of paper.
“Hey,” she said softly, holding the notebook out to him. “You left this in the library.”
He looked up, surprise flickering across his face. “You found it?”
“Yeah,” she said, handing it to him. “I… didn’t read much. Just a line.”
He nodded slowly, expression unreadable. “Thank you.”
There was a moment of silence, awkward but gentle. Then she added quietly, “You write beautifully.”
He gave a faint, almost disbelieving laugh. “That’s not writing. Just thoughts.”
“Maybe,” she said, smiling. “But they sound like stories trying to happen.”
For the first time, Andrew really looked at her — not just a passing glance, but the kind of look that sees. “You talk like that often?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like the world’s a little softer than it really is.”
Rasimie tilted her head, pretending to think. “Maybe it is. You just don’t look close enough.”
He didn’t answer. But there was something in his eyes now — a warmth that hadn’t been there before, like she’d managed to slip past his walls without meaning to.
As she turned to leave, he called after her, “Rasimie.”
She stopped.
“Thanks… for bringing it back.”
She smiled. “Anytime.”
When she was gone, Andrew opened the notebook again. Her handwriting was now there too, right under his last line.
“Sometimes silence just needs a voice brave enough to answer.”
He stared at the words for a long time — and for the first time in a while, he smiled.
- Writer
