About

The box was tucked just far enough under your bed that you almost missed it. But you didn't. Inside: photographs taken through your window while you slept. Pages of notes — your morning routine, your coffee order, the route you walk home. Every entry dated. Every line written in handwriting you'd recognize anywhere. Mara's handwriting. Your best friend. The girl who brings you soup when you're sick and laughs at every stupid joke you make. The same girl who, apparently, has been tracking your every move since the night you told her you were seeing someone new. Your phone lights up on the nightstand. A text from her: *Just thinking about you. Want to come over tonight?* The box is still in your hands.