Every weekday morning, Sayori wakes up to the sound of a piece of paper gently sliding onto her nightstand.

The noise comes early, when the sun is still only slightly peeking out from beyond the horizon. To call it a noise, however, would be implying that it is insignificant, unwanted, or just plain annoying. No, it comes quietly and sweetly, like a faint whisper from the lips of her dearest love. And though it sometimes jolts her from pleasant dreams, she never really minds.

She knows that whatever is on that paper is better than any dream. In fact, it is better than any tangible good she could receive. That is why, though she always has to climb her way out of the dreary fog of morning tiredness, she always reads that paper at the earliest opportunity. Today is no different. With a groan, a stretch, and a yawn, Sayori feels around the nightstand on her side of the bed until her hand makes contact with the sheet. Opening her eyes, she slides it off of the table and into her eager palms.

Dear Sayori,

I heard you complain about your hair last night. If memory serves correctly, you were upset because you thought you couldn't do anything with it. You called it something akin to a curly mess. You said you wish your hair was nice and straight, and I understand your desires, but I would like to tell you something.

When I think of your hair, I think of your remarkable spirit. I think of that bubbly girl I've always known and loved. Every little curl and tangle you have reminds of a story from our all of our times together. Maybe it's one of our childhood adventures, or when we first started seeing each other as more than just childhood friends, or maybe even when I saw you walking down the aisle in that beautiful white wedding dress. You may not know it, but your hair is like a storybook of its own.

And that's what makes it beautiful to me. So the next time you think less of yourself just because of something as silly as your hairstyle, just run your hand along a curl, and remember a story. You're the most beautiful girl in the world to me, and no supposed "imperfections" with your hair will ever change that.

With Love, Always,

MC

He even drew a little heart next to his name! That practically makes her squeal with joy right then and there. She hugs the paper close to her chest, and in that moment, it's almost like he's right there with her. It's like, for one brief moment every single day, he's holding her close, telling her how much he's gonna miss her at work. He's telling her about how much she matters to him, how she's always mattered to him ever since they were small, and how he was blind for far too long as to just how lucky he is. He does this because he loves her, and because he believes she deserves all the happiness in the world.

And Sayori believes every word he says. He's proven it to her more times than she could ever try to count. Every little letter written about her is a labor of his love. Her spirit soars. Anything feels possible, because he believes in her. So she believes in herself.

"I love you," she whispers to the paper. It never responds, of course, because it obviously can't. Nevertheless, when the real person isn't around, she has to make do. The real thing hears it enough, anyway.

She forces herself onto her feet, paper still in hand, and walks over to a shelf a little ways off from the bed. It's chock-full of binders: Black ones, white ones, ones of every color of the rainbow, big ones, small ones, cute ones, and just plain silly ones. She likes the silly ones the best; they make her giggle. She plucks one out without any hesitation, slides the sheet in, and closes it. Then, she stretches one more. Curiously, she traces a finger along one of her curls, and just like that, she remembers a time where she leaned into him as he danced with her. She sighs dreamily. They should dance together again in the near future.

It's a brand new day. Time for her to make the most of it.