The letter was tucked into page 114 of a library copy of a novel no one had checked out in six years, which Yetunde supposed was the point — a message meant for whoever was patient enough, or bored enough, to read that far.
Dear whoever finds this, it began, in handwriting too neat to be careless, I don't know what I'm hoping for. Maybe just to know someone reached page 114.
Yetunde had reached page 114 by accident, on a Tuesday she didn't otherwise remember, in a library she only visited because it was raining and her umbrella was, as always, somewhere else.
She did not return the book the following week. Instead, she wrote a reply on the back of a receipt, tucked it into page 115, and returned both to the shelf, where she had no real reason to believe anyone would ever find them.