He wrote her five notes after they first met, and when she was in the bath, he hid them around her house – behind a painting, under a rug, in the toe of an old tennis shoe. She found them one by one over the years. Notes of love, recalling the heady rush of newness.
Until only one remained.
“Tell me where,” she begged, already old. “Give me one clue.”
“In the library,” he said eventually.
Every day she took down a book and flicked through its pages; and finally, one afternoon, a scrap of folded paper fluttered out.
I’m flattered this week that Rochelle chose a photograph of my libary at home. My piece this week is based on a true story. My partner Tim and I did write notes to each other and hid them in each other’s houses. We live together now, and I know that there is one final note in a book, that I’m yet to find.
This piece of writing is part of the Friday Fictioneers writing group. Each week writers from around the world attempt to write 100 words (or so) starting with a picture.
I’d love to receive comments and constructive criticism. Click here to read other people’s stories inspired by this picture or to join in, with the group hosted by Rochelle Wishoff-Fields.