Maya scrolled up. Three months of messages. And one photo she had never seen.
She had opened the conversation with Orion to reread something he had said the night before, something about the poem and the hallway and how he was tired of being seen for something he did not choose. She was scrolling fast, skimming past old jokes and late-night confessions, when a photo caught her eye. It was a small square, faded, posted three months ago, before they had even started talking.
She tapped it.
It was a picture of a notebook. Black cover, spiral binding, dog-eared pages. The same notebook she had lost in the library in September, the one she had torn her room apart looking for, the one she had given up on ever seeing again.
Her handwriting was visible in the corner of the frame.
Maya stared
