The Reader Behind My Words

s silent as

e faint glow of her phone illuminated her face, casting shadows in the quiet room. Outside, the night had settled over the city,

heart hammering in anticipation. A new no

you a

It was him-always him. Always at the quietest ho

t strange even in her head to type

ame almost

to finish what I

ual even, but they carried a weight she couldn't explain. A we

, propping her phone o

ke words are safer t

, though she had never put it into words. Now, it sat in her screen lik

on't interrupt. Words don't judge .

writing stories no one would read. I thoug

meant her. Him. Her small, timid comment had pierced thr

yone would notice

I noticed. You're different.

in a long time. Most people either ignored her or expected her to stay quiet, invisible,

a blush creeping across her cheek

I like you too. I think... I

id he mean her? Or did he mean the words? Th

carefully, even if

as longer than usual. H

e person behind the words. No

t know his face, his voice, or his name. She had never met him in real

too. She fi

me quickly,

ust... tell me about yo

ted to write more than small things. She wanted to pour out her thoughts, her fears, her quiet lo

, and... watched people, she typed sl

ghtly, though she could sense the curiosity u

markable, often lost in his notebook. She didn't know his name. She hadn't spoken to him. And yet, she thought of

she typed. But I d

"A mystery then.

ntless times. He shared fragments of his own work, short lines that hinted at loneliness, longing, and dreams that

ent except for the occasional honk of a distant car. Purity didn't check the time. She didn't want to. She was lo

ething that made her pause

could meet you, would we f

ossible. What if meeting him in reality ruined everything? What

e typed finally.

ed almost

w your name, but I feel lik

ng, of hearts stretching toward each other across invisible lines. Pu

he typed, barely d

omething that made

... Osi

. And yet, there it was, typed by him as though he had know

respond, another

ow how, either. But something in your wo

gure-had seemed familiar in the same way. Could it be him? Was it possible that the writer she had come to trust

trembled slight

... th

wed. Her phone buz

way or another. But for now... can we

ugh he couldn't see

they co

nfinished work, sometimes vague, sometimes startlingly raw. She responded with honesty, vu

oint, sh

scared that wor

lied q

start. Maybe they're the first step

uge, her safe haven. But now, they were something m

She would have to close her phone, leave the screen, and return to a world that often failed to understand her. B

st message befor

well. Thank you

t the phone down, a soft

Osinachi. I'll find

t in her chest as a truth she couldn't ignore. Somehow, some way, the person she

n a long time, she d

irl who had never left a comment before had become the reason he kept writing. The words he had poured into the night were no l

ed with words, confessions, and the gentle, elect