"Do you have a postcard for me?" she asked. A tone that I recognized as a combination of hope and despair.
I handed her the postcard that she asked and then suddenly, her expression changed. Her blue eyes were getting darker before tears emerged from the corner of her eyes.
"Thank you," she said with a trembling voice.
I stood there. I wanted to comfort her, saying things that could bring the tears away but I was not sure she would expect me to do it. Our interactions were strange. After couples of polite greetings, we started to have deeper conversation. I knew that she lived alone in the isolated house after her parents decided to move to another country. She has a little brother who liked to visit her once or twice per year. And that she always got a postcard from different places.
I asked her once about the postcards and that was when her eyes got darkened. After that I never asked her about the postcards. Until this moment. I was tempted to cross the boundary again. To say to her that the world was not over. But then who was I to say those words to her. I was just an observer that wanted her to be happy.