Her hands fidget with each other and she stares at the book on her lap, the lamp from the nightstand giving little light for her eyes to adjust to the letters that stare up at her. The literature’s in near mint-condition and she smiles at the tiny little rugged ends of a single corner. All it took was one book for her to see it - to see him. Fate is what they call it these days, but perhaps there’s a better interpretation of it that doesn’t sound so…dramatic. Luck, maybe? If only whatever force it was would be on her side again and bring it - him - back. It’s useless to hold onto cut strings, but there’s always hope that what goes up, must come down. One day, the balloon that was deemed free from the string will fall back down, hopefully finding the same place where it was let go.