Nov 1, 2024 - Oct 31, 2025 Honorable mention by Deborah Ologunagba

 I could still feel the sting in my cheek as I slowly wiped off the blood at the corner of my mouth with my sleeve. Patricia and her group just never have enough.

     Walking on my last fragment of pride, I made my way through the library entrance. Even the librarian couldn't help but cast a look of pity. Turns out that's all you can do in situations you can't control look away in conscientious defeat.

     Ignoring that, I got to the literary section to do the usuals, a piece of book after my daily dose of foul treatment. Not a deep fan of Shakespeare, but on Thursdays like this, he was a means of comfort.

     I took my typical preference, running my fingers through its pages I suddenly felt  a paper sticking out. Would not deny the fact that I used it often, but never was I this brazen to leave the book in such disarray. Slightly tugging on it, to my surprise, it came out as a folder - paper or letter maybe? But anyways curiosity got the best of me and I opened it.

     Truly, it wasn't what I expected. No secret confession, no hidden message - just a rough sketch of me, resting on my desk, a crooked halo above my head. The line, "For the book warrior who never gives up", written below.

     I stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or cry. The drawing was undeniably awful - uneven lines, surely amateur work, but it was perfect just that way. It was human. In specific, David.

     Somewhere between the sting in my cheek and ache in my pride, something in me eased. I laughed quietly at first, then louder till that freedom locked in.

     It was not a love letter or an apology. But maybe, it didn't have to be. Sometimes, all you need is a reminder that someone sees you even when you'd rather disappear.

     I folded the paper back into the book, this time carefully, like it was something precious. And for the first time, that Thursday, the library felt warm.