Signed A

Chapter 2 - Violas pov

I didn’t realize how many things I’d kept until I started packing.

Half my closet was filled with clothes I never wore, shoes I didn’t remember owning, and boxes labeled with Liam’s handwriting—“winter stuff,” “books,” “misc.” He had always been more organized than me, always thinking ahead, always preparing for the next thing.

I hadn’t touched most of these boxes since the funeral. The idea of moving on without him felt impossible then. It still did. But college was starting in two weeks, and apparently, I was still alive. Still breathing. Still expected to go live a life.

So I packed.

The room felt too quiet without his music humming through the wall. Without the sound of him calling “Hey, don’t forget your charger!” every time I left for anything. Every time I taped a box shut, it felt like sealing off a part of us—of who we were.

It wasn’t until I started clearing the bookshelf that I saw it.

A navy blue book I didn’t recognize, wedged tightly between two worn-out paperbacks. The spine was blank. I tilted my head. I’d never seen it before. I was sure of it.

Curious, I pulled it out. The Little Prince. An old edition, bound in cloth with golden stars etched into the cover. It looked out of place among my books—too delicate, too deliberate. I opened the cover slowly, running my fingers over the soft, yellowed pages.

That’s when something slipped out and landed in my lap.

A folded piece of paper.

My heart tightened.

The handwriting on it was Liam’s.

To my star,

If you ever feel alone, really alone, send a message to A.

He won’t say much. But he’ll listen. And he’ll understand.

(You don’t have to use it. But I hope you do someday.)

—L

I stared at the note, barely breathing. My fingers tingled with something between fear and longing.

Who was A? Why hadn’t Liam ever told me about him?

And how had this book ended up here—now, of all times?

I picked up my phone. My thumb hovered over the screen.

I didn’t know what I would say. I didn’t even know if the email still worked. But suddenly, the silence around me felt louder than ever.

And I… I didn’t want to feel alone anymore.

held the note in both hands, as if it might crumble under my touch. Liam’s handwriting—sharp, slanted, familiar—was enough to make my chest ache.

A.

Just a letter, a code, a stranger. But Liam had trusted this person. Trusted them enough to write down their email and tuck it into a book, as if he’d known I’d find it. As if he’d planned for me to find it.

I ran my fingers over the paper, as though doing so would give me answers. It didn’t. All it gave me was a deeper sense of absence. The kind that crept in during the quiet parts of the night and pressed against my ribcage like grief had a heartbeat of its own.

I looked at the email again.

It was his way of saying, “You’ve got this.” Without needing to say it.

I sat down at my desk, the wooden chair creaking beneath me. I opened my laptop and stared at the screen for a long time. My inbox was cluttered with campus housing emails, welcome packets, and messages from people I hadn’t heard from since the funeral.

I opened a new draft. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

What was I supposed to say?

Hi. My name is—

I deleted the line. Too direct.

You don’t know me, but—

Delete.

I exhaled sharply and leaned back in the chair. This was stupid. I didn’t even know if the address worked. For all I knew, it could’ve been one of Liam’s dumb ideas—something symbolic, something that made sense only to him.

But still.

He’d left it for me. Which meant he’d thought it might matter.

So I tried again.

Subject: From someone who misses him too

I found a note. With your email on it.

He said you’d understand.

I don’t really know what I’m doing, or why I’m writing this.

But he trusted you. And I trusted him.

—V

I stared at the message. It felt too short and too much, all at once. I hovered over the send button.

Then I clicked it.

And just like that, the message was gone—floating somewhere in the digital ether, reaching for a stranger I couldn’t see, a voice I didn’t know.

I closed the laptop and sat in the stillness. The box of books was half-packed. Clothes hung off the bed like slumped shoulders. But I didn’t move.

Something had shifted.

I didn’t know it yet, but the moment I pressed “send,” something began to unravel. Or maybe… something finally began to begin.