Amara couldn’t sleep.
The house was quiet, her roommates long gone to bed, but her heart beat with restless energy. She sat by the window, the notebook in her lap, and a pen in her hand.
The letter to Clara wouldn’t leave her mind.
"I tried to love the world, even when it didn’t love me back..."
She read the line over and over again, each time feeling it deeper in her chest. There was so much pain in those words,but also bravery. Evelyn had fought to stay soft in a world that tried to harden her.
Amara opened the back of the notebook again and began to write.
“Evelyn" I’m trying too. I’ve felt the coldness of people. The silence after you speak your heart. But your words are a warm light. I want to believe again. I want to find my way too.”
She closed the notebook, placed it on her bedside table, and whispered a promise into the dark.
“I’ll finish what you started.
The next afternoon, after her shift, Amara returned to the house once more. This time, she brought gloves, a flashlight, and a small notebook of her own.
She explored further than before past the cracked kitchen tiles and into a dusty room with an old writing desk. Inside one of the drawers, she found a journal with a velvet ribbon wrapped around it. Its cover read:
“My Unwritten Pages.”
Carefully, she untied it.
The entries were raw, sometimes unfinished. In one, Evelyn had written:
“Some days, I feel invisible. Like a window people glance through but never look into. I smile and they walk past. I laugh and they don't hear me. But I writeand maybe, just maybe, I exist on the page.”
Amara sat on the floor and wept. Not because she was sad though she was but because someone had felt what she felt… and survived it.
That night, Amara began to transcribe Evelyn’s words into her own journal, blending them with her thoughts, her struggles, her voice. Slowly, the stories began to weave together past and present, two voices becoming one.
She wasn’t just uncovering Evelyn’s life,
She was uncovering her "own".