"Louisa. Nice name. Happy birthday."
Louisa takes her passport, carefully, as if it has a heartbeat. ... Fish said that a passport is proof that you exist. Now that Fish is gone, it feels the only proof Louisa has left.
"My birthday isn't until tomorrow," she says.
"I might not see you tomorrow," the man whispers, with kind eyes and a tender smile.
My Friends
Fredrik Backman
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