Page 328 of Let Me In

He’s building it.

For me.

The writing nook.

My nook.

He won’t call it an office. “Too cold,” he said.

“This is your place, little one. Where you dream.”

I can already see it.

The windows he framed with such care.

The shelves he’s measuring to fit my height, so I can reach without straining.

The little alcove in the corner—he left it on purpose.

“For your chair,” he told me.

“I want you comfortable. I want it to feel like you.”

My laptop sits behind me on the bed.

Blank screen.

Cursor blinking.

Like it’s waiting for me to be ready.

I haven’t written in a long time.

Not really.

Not without fear whispering at the edges.

Not without bracing for failure.

But something’s different now.

There’s a nudge.

A flicker.

A feeling like soft roots pressing down into warm soil. Not fast. Not loud.

But real.

Alive.

I watch him work.

Watch the way he wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, leaving a streak of sawdust across his temple. He doesn’t even notice.

And then—

He does.

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