my dearest, Nabeeha,

as I begin this letter/diary entry/attempt at feeling close to you, the wind bangs at my windows in such a way that it forcefully comes in through the cracks, making a quiet whistling noise echo around my room and succeeding at making me feel just the tiniest bit crazy. how are you? I miss you.

the air here is dry and cold, and it's making my dermatitis flare up; my hands are cracked and bleeding, and every time I look at them I think of you and your eczema. it makes me wonder about the weather in Islamabad, the stress you might be under due to your classes, the projects and models you might be working on, and your skin's reactions to all of that. writing it down on paper makes it seem silly, especially because I don't even know your eczema's exact placements or triggers, but I guess it's only natural for me to have these sorts of trains of thoughts with how much I miss talking to you daily, or on any regular basis, really.

I'm not really sure how to go about writing this. there aren't many events I feel the need to update you on, my life's been uneventful. I'm sick alarmingly frequently, we can't figure out why; none of the tests I've done indicate any large problem. then again, none of the examinations I get done are ever insightful, even though there is definitely something wrong with me health-wise. c'est la vie — the tale of struggling for years with a chronic illness before receiving adequate care is not an uncommon one. I wish someone would take me seriously when I talk about my physical pain and fatigue, though. I feel like a really useless piece of shit whenever I fail to get something done because getting up seemed like a Herculean task. whatever.

do you remember the senior from my school I kind of have a crush on? we are supposed to be working together on something for the school's Christmas fair together next week. I am going to kill myself. there's 4 of us in the group: he, I, and two other seniors that are chill enough. however, my problem with this is that they're all cishet music-loving guys, and the project that we are in charge of is music related. they're going to eat me alive. I did not sign up for this. I don't even know why the principal decided to choose me. I mean, sure, I have above average musical knowledge when compared to the rest of my school's population, but I don't really think this is a 4 person job. Perhaps she didn't want to only include seniors and boys in the assignment, so she chose an 11th grade girl to help them. I just feel like a lamb for slaughter. whateverr. send prayers !

I'm pissed at Luka and Borna. matter of fact, I'm pissed at everyone. if I start listing the reasons I'm irked I might actually fling myself from the nearest rooftop, but I just needed to let you know so that you can join me in my anger.

winter break starts in 10 days for me; I'm sososo excited for us to talk over it. hopefully the watchparty with Ziggie and Sarah actually comes to fruition. I'm also very pumped to finally be able to sleep. and for the tcoptp reread. Godspeed. I just need to survive the next week and a half. Unfortunately for me, they're going to be hell, but I am nothing if not resilient. I'll motivate myself with Hamilton's soundtrack. speaking of, have you watched it for that girl yet? if not, do you plan on it? please update me on your lesbian ventures in uni along with any and all dramas that have taken place since we've last talked.

oh, also, has your feed been flooded with that power outage byler fic too? have you read it? I finished it yesterday and wanted your opinion on it. miss you forever and thinking of you always. dream of lavender and castles, please.

love, Evan