Thousands of Words Between Pages
1244 Words
Kai noticed the pile of notebooks beside her immediately.
Not just one or two.
An entire stack.
Some were old and worn out, their corners bent softly from being carried too often. Others still looked newer, though pages were already sticking out unevenly from how frequently they had been opened and closed. Pens rested between random pages like unfinished thoughts waiting to continue.
Lea instinctively moved one notebook slightly under another, almost embarrassed by how exposed they suddenly felt.
Kai smiled faintly as he set the plastic food container on her desk.
“You always writing something.”
Lea shrugged awkwardly without looking directly at him.
“Just random things.”
But even she knew that wasn’t true.
Nothing she wrote ever felt random.
Every sentence came from somewhere too deep inside her chest. Every page carried emotions she couldn’t explain out loud without feeling stupid afterward.
Kai handed her one of the warm drink cups he bought from the small convenience store near school. The heat pressed softly against her cold fingers.
“You never let anyone read them?”
“No.”
The answer came too fast.
Too automatic.
Kai sat down near the edge of her desk chair, stretching his legs casually while rain tapped softly against the bedroom window beside them.
“Why?”
The question lingered between them longer than expected.
Lea stared down at the cup in her hands.
Steam curled slowly upward.
Because the notebooks knew too much.
Because every page contained versions of herself she spent all day trying to hide.
Because loneliness sounded uglier once written honestly.
If someone read them carefully enough, they would discover how empty she often felt inside. How badly she wanted to disappear sometimes. How exhausting it was pretending to be okay around people who only noticed the quieter version of her.
The notebooks carried all the things she could never say properly.
Fear.
Anger.
Sadness.
The desperate need to feel understood by someone.
Anyone.
Lea swallowed slowly.
“I don’t know,” she mumbled.
Kai nodded gently like he understood anyway.
That was something Lea secretly liked about him.
He never pushed too hard.
Never demanded explanations she didn’t know how to give.
Most people filled silence immediately because silence made them uncomfortable.
But Kai treated silence carefully.
Like it was still part of the conversation.
The rain outside became slightly heavier, tapping against the glass in uneven rhythms. Somewhere downstairs, the television murmured softly from the living room while her mother moved around the kitchen.
The house felt temporarily calm tonight.
Not peaceful.
Just calm enough to breathe.
Kai opened the food container and pushed half toward her.
“You barely ate anything at school again.”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“You’re never hungry lately.”
Lea gave a small shrug.
He wasn’t wrong.
Everything inside her had felt heavy these past few weeks. Eating sometimes felt like another responsibility she didn’t have energy for.
They ate quietly together.
Comfortable silence.
Occasionally Kai would comment about school or complain about one of their teachers, and Lea would laugh softly under her breath without realizing she needed the sound.
For a little while, things almost felt normal.
Like maybe she was still a regular fourteen-year-old girl instead of someone constantly carrying invisible weight around her chest.
When they finished eating, Kai stood near the bedroom door and slipped his hands into his jacket pockets.
“You know…” he started quietly.
Lea looked up.
He hesitated slightly before continuing.
“You should write a real book someday.”
Lea laughed softly for the first time in days.
The sound surprised even her.
“A real book needs an ending.”
Kai smiled faintly.
“Maybe you just haven’t reached it yet.”
The sentence settled strangely inside her.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly enough to remain there after he left.
Lea stood near the door after he disappeared down the hallway. She listened to the sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs before silence slowly returned to the room.
Then she sat back down at her desk.
The notebooks waited beside her like they always did.
Patient.
Faithful.
Dangerous.
She reopened the newest one slowly.
Kai’s words echoed inside her chest.
Maybe you just haven’t reached it yet.
Lea wanted to believe that.
She truly did.
But some nights, the future looked less like possibility and more like an endless hallway stretching forward forever.
Dark.
Empty.
No destination waiting at the end.
Just surviving one exhausting day after another.
School.
Home.
Arguments.
Silence.
Pretending.
Repeating.
Sometimes she wondered if life simply continued like that forever until people became adults who no longer noticed their own sadness anymore.
Hours passed slowly.
The house eventually fell asleep around her.
The television downstairs turned off first.
Then footsteps disappeared.
Doors closed.
Water stopped running through pipes.
Silence wrapped around the house carefully.
Only the rain remained awake with her.
Outside her bedroom window, the storm became heavier. Raindrops slid down the glass in endless uneven lines while distant thunder rolled quietly somewhere beyond the city.
Lea pulled her knees closer against the chair and continued writing.
The words came faster now.
Messy.
Emotional.
Too honest.
Her handwriting became uneven across the page as thoughts spilled out before she could stop them.
Sometimes I think I write because I’m scared of disappearing.
She paused briefly.
The pen hovered uncertainly.
Then continued moving.
If my thoughts exist somewhere on paper, maybe I existed too. Maybe proof of me will remain even if nobody remembers me properly someday.
Her chest tightened immediately after writing it.
Because it sounded pathetic once visible.
But it was true.
Lea often feared becoming forgettable.
Not in dramatic ways.
Quiet ways.
Like slowly fading from people’s memories while still standing beside them every day.
Like being emotionally invisible long before physically disappearing.
Tears blurred her vision slightly.
She blinked hard and wiped them away quickly before they stained the page.
The notebook already carried enough sadness inside it.
She turned to another blank sheet afterward.
A clean page.
A fresh beginning.
Lea stared at it for a long moment before starting another story.
This one was about a girl who sat beside a bedroom window every night watching strangers outside live happier lives than hers.
The girl noticed everything.
Families eating dinner together.
Friends laughing while walking home.
Couples standing beneath streetlights sharing umbrellas during rainstorms.
The girl imagined entire lives for strangers she would never meet because imagining other people’s happiness distracted her from her own loneliness.
Every night, she dreamed of leaving someday.
Of becoming someone different somewhere far away.
Someone lighter.
Someone less tired.
Someone who no longer felt trapped inside her own life.
Lea continued writing quickly until her hand suddenly slowed.
Her breathing shifted slightly.
Because without realizing it, the imaginary girl no longer felt imaginary at all.
The girl looked exactly like her.
Same window.
Same loneliness.
Same desperate wish to escape.
Lea stared silently at the unfinished sentence for a very long time.
Rain continued falling outside.
Soft thunder vibrated faintly through the walls.
The clock beside her bed read nearly two in the morning now.
Everything around her felt still except her thoughts.
Slowly, she lowered the pen again.
Then quietly, beneath the unfinished story, Lea wrote one final sentence before closing the notebook.
Some stories remain unfinished because the writer is still trying to survive them.
- Writer
