14/02/2026
𝐅𝐞𝐛-𝐈𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | Dear Reader: The Space Between Lines
(In Between Sparks and Skies, Part II)
“They’re lucky to receive something like this. I hope they like it.”
That was the last thing I remembered before waking from my dream. It had been a year and a half since I last heard that familiar voice. “How are they doing right now?” I wondered. After that semester ended, we barely saw each other—barely even spoke. Still, it would be nice to see them once more.
I first met that person during our freshman year. We weren’t close, but I often noticed them sitting alone, phone in hand, keeping to themselves. Sometime later, I saw them reading a graphic fantasy novel I happened to be a fan of. Sneaking up behind them, I whispered, “What are you doing, dear reader?”
They hurriedly looked back, startled. “Huh? What did you say, Lucas?”
“Oh—on online forums and websites, the author of that novel calls his readers ‘Dear Reader,’ so that’s why I said it.”
“Is that so?” they replied.
We met again during the last year of college. We were classmates, though most of my friends were in a different section. Thankfully, I still knew a handful of people in that class—one of whom was a girl I liked.
“We’re classmates again. How are you?” I greeted.
They quickly put down their phone. “Yeah, it’s been a while. I’m fine. How about you, Lucas?”
“Same here,” I laughed. “You seem to be reading another novel, dear reader.”
Looking annoyed, they said, “Why do you keep calling me that? Is my name too long for you to say?”
Jokingly, I replied, “Yes.”
I didn’t notice it at first, but the more time I spent with Reader, the more I learned that they also wrote poems—much like I did. I wrote about my feelings and the people I liked, often romantic if I do say so myself. Their poems, however, carried more depth, tinged with nostalgia and melancholy.
Days passed quickly. We grew closer, exchanging poems, helping each other improve our writing. I often sent them my work to proofread before giving it to its intended recipient—especially the girl I liked.
There was one poem in particular that I worked especially hard on. It was meant for her birthday. As usual, before giving it to her, I asked Reader to review it.
“Do you like it?” I asked. “How’s the grammar? I’m planning to give it to someone I like.”
“It’s nice,” they replied quietly. “They’re lucky to receive something like this. I hope they like it.”
I didn’t know why, but hearing that made me ecstatic—embarrassed, yet deeply happy that someone appreciated my writing.
I gave the poem to the girl I liked. She loved it and admitted she liked me, too. I was over the moon. The feelings were mutual, though we decided to keep things casual. The days that followed were filled with laughter and bliss.
Eventually, it was the last night of the school festival I would attend that semester. I searched for Reader, hoping to watch the fireworks with them—thinking it might be the last time we’d ever hang out. While walking, someone grabbed my hand. Smiling, I turned around, expecting Reader.
Instead, I was met with the smile of the girl I liked.
Nervous—as I rightly should have been—I listened as she said, “Will you join me?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I’d enjoy that.”
We sat together, hands intertwined. “Should we date?” she whispered.
“I’d like that,” I replied.
As the sky filled with bright colors and booming sounds, I couldn’t help but wonder where Reader was. I hoped they were watching the fireworks too.
After graduation, Reader and I never met again. The girl I dated and I were together for five months before going our separate ways. We loved each other, but things simply didn’t work out—it was a mutual decision.
Now, I was working part-time at a fast-food restaurant while waiting for my board exam results. It was just another shift—until a certain customer walked in.
Without looking, acting on reflex, I greeted, “Good day. May I take your order?”
“Lucas?” a familiar voice said.
I looked up. It was Reader. We hadn’t seen each other since graduation. Seeing them again felt refreshing.
“How have you been?” Reader asked.
“You haven’t spoken to me since graduation,” I replied, slightly annoyed, “but I’m doing good.”
“That’s good. I’d like my order to go, please,” Reader said.
Reluctantly, I asked, “Wait—can we talk? It’s been a long time.”
“Later,” they replied. “I have classes at a nearby review center. I finish at 5 p.m. What time are you off?”
“4 p.m. I’ll wait for you outside,” I said.
As soon as my shift ended, I sprinted to their review center. I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Hey, are you done with class? Let’s eat—it’s on me,” I said.
“Okay, that sounds fine,” they replied.
We settled into a cozy, dimly lit café.
“Why are you taking review classes, Reader?” I asked.
“I’m taking the boards this year,” they answered. “I wasn’t prepared last year. And why are you still calling me ‘Reader’?”
“I guess it’s what I’ve always known,” I said. “And… I still think about you. It hurts that we haven’t talked since.”
“Huh? That’s pretty smug coming from someone who didn’t reach out either,” Reader replied.
“I was waiting for you,” I said. “I thought you’d reach out too.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“Well, I guess we’re both at fault. I’m sorry too,” Reader said.
“Lucas,” they continued, “to be honest, I didn’t reach out because I had feelings for you—feelings a friend shouldn’t have. The poems I sent you… they were for you.”
My heart sank.
“You liked someone else,” Reader said. “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. But we ended up like this anyway. That’s all in the past now. I’m sorry for ruining what we had. Can we start again?”
“I’m sorry too,” I said. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I wish I had been more present. Yes, I liked someone back then—but that’s over now. Before we start over… can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” Reader said. “What is it?”
“Do you still have feelings for me?”
Reader went quiet, staring at their phone. “Yes… somewhat.”
“Reader,” I said softly, “you’ve always been dear to me in ways I couldn’t explain. When you were gone, I had time to sort things out—to realize what I truly felt. I like you too. I’m sorry it took so long.”
My voice shook. “Will you start a new chapter with me? Not as friends, but as something more. Will you put down your phone and answer me, dear Reader?”
Reader raised their phone toward me. “Congratulations—you passed the boards.”
I stared at the screen. My name was there.
“Huh? I passed?” I laughed in disbelief. “It feels unreal… but you still haven’t answered my question. Will you go out with me?”
Reader smiled. “No…”
“What?” I asked, shocked.
“Let me finish,” they said. “I’ve liked you for a very long time, and I still do. But I still have to take my boards. It wouldn’t be fair if you’ve already passed and I haven’t. I want to be deserving of you, too.”
They smirked. “So, for now, it’s a ‘not yet’. We can still hang out, still be friends. Will you wait for me?”
“Always,” I said, smiling—my heart lighter than it had been in a long time.
“For you, dear Reader, I will."
Written by 𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧 𝐓. 𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨
Illustration by 𝐑𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐉. 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧
