I glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven. “Don’t go,” he said. His voice had become hoarse, so I lifted his head and gave him a sip of water. “You’ll never be alone,” I promised. “Shall I tell you more? You’d recognize the professor from a distance because she always wears purple. She talks about books like they’re her best friends…” “I want to meet her.” Through the night, I stayed, telling tales, calming his fevered dreams, holding his hand until he died.
