She worked part-time at the bookstore too. She had kind eyes and the kind of stillness that made you feel seen. We became friends, then something more. One autumn evening, as we walked home through fallen leaves, I told her about Grandma’s inheritance.
“She must have really seen you,” Liana said.
Liana became the second person to read my work. She’d curl up on my couch with a pen in hand, circling sentences and writing little notes in the margins:
“This line lands.”
“Say what you’re afraid to say.”
“You have something to offer.”
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