As I read through your novel, now and then I will stumble upon your handwriting on the margins of the book. Those neat, swirly scripts- explaining words you couldn't understand.
I love stumbling upon these little surprises. Those words which were written long before I met you, offers me a glimpse of you in the past. I picture a younger you sitting at a desk, pencil by your side and your cellphone presumably ready to Google whatever words it was that were new to you.
This image made me smile. You even turn reading fiction into a task!
Even then, just as you are now, you have this quiet tenacity which I admire.
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