I didn't read the whole letter.
Not at once.
I told myself it was because I wanted to understand it slowly.
That rushing it would make me miss something important.
That was a lie.
The truth was… I didn't think I could survive it in one sitting.
Christopher Croft had never written much. He was the kind of person who kept things inside, like words were too fragile to be spoken out loud.
So the fact that he left anything at all— It didn't feel right.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
I read the first line again.
And again.
Not because I didn't understand it.
But because I wished it would
change.
It didn't.
The room felt smaller after that.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
Too… him.
I exhaled sharply and looked away, like the letter was the problem.
Like it was the thing that made him disappear.
It wasn't.
I knew that.
I just didn't want to admit what was.
My eyes drifted without thinking— to the window, the desk, the chair he used to sit in— —and then everything blurred into something else.
A different room.
A different time.
I didn't notice Christopher the first day.
That's the part people wouldn't believe. Someone like him should've stood out.
But he didn't.
Not at first.
It was a lecture hall—too cold, too bright, filled with people pretending they cared more than they did.
I wasn't paying attention.
I rarely did.
Until the professor asked a question no one answered.
And then— A voice.
Quiet. Clear.
Certain.
I looked up.
And there he was.
Blonde hair catching the light just enough to look softer than it should've.
Blue eyes fixed on the front, not on the people around him.
Not on me.
That was the first strange thing.
Everyone looked at me.
Eventually.
Christopher didn't.
He answered like it mattered. Like the world wouldn't keep spinning if he got it wrong.
And when he finished— He just sat back down.
Like nothing had happened.
No pride.
No hesitation.
No need for attention.
It should've ended there.
It didn't.
I started noticing him after that.
The way he always sat in the same seat.
The way he wrote everythine
down, even things that didn't matter.
The way he listened more than he spoke.
The way he existed— quietly.
Like he was trying not to take up space.
It annoyed me.
More than it should have.
Because people like him weren't supposed to be invisible.
And yet— He was.
To everyone.
Except me.
The memory slipped, just slightly.
Like a crack forming through glass. And suddenly I was back in the room again.
Back in the silence.
Back with the letter still in my hands.
I hadn't realized I'd stopped breathing. I inhaled sharply, folding the paper too quickly—like I could contain it, like I could control what it meant.
Christopher Croft was gone.
The thought landed heavier this time. Not dramatic.
Not loud. Just… final.
I looked at the desk again.
At the empty space where he used to be.
And for a moment— I almost expected him to walk in.
Quiet.
Careful.
Apologizing for something that wasn't his fault.
He didn't.
Of course he didn't. Christopher had always stayed.
Even when he shouldn't have.
Even when I— My jaw tightened.
I looked back down at the letter.
At his handwriting.
At the last thing he left behind.
And this time— I kept reading.