Dear Élise,

The train left Marseille at four and I watched the sea for as long as the window allowed. You were still on the platform when I lost sight of it, your scarf the only red thing on the whole quay.

I meant to say something before the doors closed, and the words stayed in my coat pocket. So here they are. When you laughed at dinner on Sunday, you looked at me first, as if to check that I had found it funny too. I have thought about that small glance every day since. Write to me about your week, and tell me the ordinary parts as well.

Yours, from a rainy room,

T.

Dear Théo,

Your letter came on Tuesday. I read it standing in the hallway with my keys still in my hand, and then again at the kitchen table with a coffee, properly.

You asked for the ordinary parts. The bathroom tap drips in threes. The baker gave me the last fig tart and pretended it was an accident. I finished the first chapter of my translation and read it aloud to the cat, who approved.

I noticed you called your room rainy. You always go quiet when the weather turns. I hope someone in Lyon makes you a hot drink without being asked. Until I can, let this letter be that drink.

With the window open,

É.

Élise,

You were right about the weather. I had told no one, and you heard it in a single line. I sat with that for a long time.

Here is the truth of this month. The work is harder than I expected, and some evenings I doubt that I am any good at it. I am telling you because you read me so carefully, and because I want you to know me on the grey days too.

On Thursday I bought a small lemon tree for the windowsill. It reminded me of your balcony. It is thriving, which I find very encouraging.

Leaning on you a little,

T.

My dear Théo,

Thank you for trusting me with the grey days. I read your letter twice, then walked the length of the Corniche so I could answer it slowly.

I keep thinking of you at the market in June, explaining to the fishmonger why his scale was off, with such patience that he ended up thanking you. The person who did that is good at difficult things. He is still there, in Lyon, under the rain, learning something new. Be as patient with yourself as you were with him.

I am keeping a list of everything I want to show you when you come back. The lemon tree is welcome too, if it travels well.

Proud of you, always,

É.

Élise, my love,

I have bought a ticket for the fourteenth. I arrive at noon, with a lemon tree on my lap like a passenger who refuses to pay for its seat.

Your letters carried me through this autumn. Each one made me feel known, even across three hundred kilometres, and that has made me braver at work and kinder to myself. I read them again on the evenings I miss you most.

Please be on the platform. Wear the red scarf so I can find you from the window.

Counting the days,

T.