A teenage girl reminisces about a lost friendship.
It was nothing more than a sheet of paper, folds made permanent from having been kept folded in a tiny square shape over the years.
She unfolded it carefully, cautiously pulling at the brittle material in the hopes that it would not rip. With success she managed to unfold the tiny square, and gently smoothed the crumpled sheet out on the desk in front of her.
The sight of the writing hit her like a physical blow. Even now, years later, she could recognize the handwriting instantaneously, picture each letter being written with care. So long had it been since she had glimpsed such handwriting; so much time had passed since she had last read anything from her, or even seen her for that matter.
She swallowed hard, and continued.
Tears began to stab at her eyes halfway through reading the markings etched onto the paper, the sheet of looseleaf that had once been nothing more than that, but was now, in fact, so much more. She silently wished for that bit of the past, for what she had been so immature to have taken for granted, for what she had never imagined leaving her. Ever.
She couldn't resist a faint smile as her eyes took in the last few words, those few words that had been so often repeated, but had never been and could never be said enough. What she wouldn't give for a moment in the past, to figure out whatever the problem had been, and to fix it.
Sadly, there was no Harry Potter in the real world. One could not obtain a time turner and go back to screw around with fate for a more desirable outcome in life.
So she had no choice but to accept what was done, just as any other. She had no choice but to cope, just as any other.
However, a smile brushed her lips. She was one of the fortunate ones; for, unlike many others who had been left in the present alone, she had a link to the past. She always would.
She gazed down at the paper in quiet reminiscence. Slowly, she refolded the sheet back into its former state. She brushed over the surface of the square with her fingertips, feeling; remembering.
A soft sigh escaped her lips as she pulled herself up from her chair. She gently took the square from the desk and placed it back onto the topmost shelf in the corner of her room, where she knew it would always be.
To anyone else in the world, it was just a piece of paper. It was a sheet of looseleaf with words, and nothing more.
But she knew better; it was much, much more.