On the afternoon of the summer solstice, warm, bright sunlight still streamed quietly through the spotless floor-to-ceiling windows of Starbucks. In the watery sunlight, a girl crouched on the floor, sobbing aloud, clutching an ordinary sheet of letter paper. On it, elegant handwriting spelled out a few simple words.
It was a letter from an older brother to his younger sister, but it said something that defied all convention:
“Mo, I love you.”
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