A pause. “No. She’s lonely. She’s been here a long time. She says she was born in a crack in 2019. She doesn’t have a before or an after. Just this one year, over and over. But she can see all the others from here. She saw you crying. She wanted to help.”
It was wedged into his mailbox on a Tuesday. No stamp. No postmark. Just a glossy picture of a Ferris wheel at night, and on the back, three words in neat, childish handwriting: I see you. i see you -2019-
“I’m in the long now,” she said. Her voice was small but not scared. “The lady says you can’t come here yet. But she says I can see you. Through the cracks.” A pause
Leo sat on the edge of Mia’s bed and wept. But when he finished, he felt something he hadn’t felt in months: a future. He walked to the window. The snow was covering the street, white and new. Somewhere, in the cracks between 2019 and everything that would come after, a little girl was laughing. And a lonely year was watching him through the glass of time, hoping he would be okay. She’s been here a long time
He pressed his palm to the windowpane. “I see you too,” he whispered.
Leo stepped forward. The air grew cold. “If there’s a crack, there’s a way through.”