Dear Peter,

I hadn't been eating. In five weeks, I had lost fifteen pounds. It was drastic enough that people began to notice. Zoya asked me why I never ate, pointing out that I had lost weight, and I told her the truth. I just didn't have an appetite. Plus, the world around me was in a frenzy and sometimes, I just forgot to eat. Or at least that's what I told myself.

It wasn't until I was video chatting with Mom that I noticed that Zoya was right. 

"Oh honey," she had said, wide eyes filled with concern and both hands placed over her heart, "Are they not feeding you in New York? Just tell me, I'll send you those apple pies you love so much..."

And she kept rambling, talking on and on about how much she missed me, while I hung onto every word. Her voice was always my source of happiness. After she was done expressing her concern and telling me about Dad's promotion, I decided it was time to tell her about you. I told her everything, from the very first day we met.

"Lucy," she warned, adjusting her glasses so that they rested on the bridge of her nose,"You're just like my mother, I swear."

She sighed heavily, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes.

"Just be careful, sweetie. I don't want you getting hurt."

I'd been hearing that a lot lately.

I mustered the biggest smile I could, "Mom, I'm tougher than you think."

At that, she nodded in agreement. 

"You're the strongest person I know. That's what worries me."

Her words, at the time, didn't make any sense.

I understand now.

After that, I had to meet up with Charlie. He had called earlier asking if I had an hour to spare that day. Even though I was tired and felt sick to my stomach, I couldn't say no. Whatever he wanted to talk about seemed important. 

We met at Kat's cafe. A sense of deja vu conquered me when Charlie walked through the doors. It was the place that I'd first met him. I explained that to him once he sat down, questioning the grin on my face.

"Ah," he smiled, "This has got to be your favorite place now."

I laughed, punching his arm lightly, "It definitely is."

We talked and talked, and an hour was easily wasted in pointless conversation and laughter.

"How's Zoya?" I asked once our laughter died down, taking a sip of my tea. 

Charlie's cheeks were overwhelmed by the color pink as he leaned forward, tilting his head slightly. 

"What do you mean? You're the one who lives with her." He remarked innocently, playing with the watch wrapped around his wrist. 

I set the cup down. 

"Oh please," amusement bled through my voice, "She's always with you. And I've seen the paintings, Charlie." 

I shot him an accusing look, which he responded to by laughing nervously. 

The paintings began appearing after the day that we "visited" David. There would be a new one almost every day. They were always paintings with silly cartoons. One was an elephant wearing pants and riding a unicycle--it was something a child would draw. They were scattered all around Zoya's room, varying in size. 

One thing was consistent throughout all of them: they all had really humorously bad puns written on them. 

I had heard Zoya laughing to herself in her room multiple times as she read the paintings. She no longer awoke with swollen eyes from crying herself to sleep the night before. Now, she would wake up to Charlie's childish paintings making her smile.

He brought her back from her heartbreak.

"Oh, those..." he smiled mischievously, "I figured she could use a good laugh."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Whatever you say, Van Gogh."

I knew there was more to it than that.

"Actually," he muttered, straightening his shoulders, his paint-stained fingers fidgeting. His hands were always like that: splattered with color.

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."

Finally, I thought. 

"It's only been two weeks since the wedding," he said, leaning forwards on his elbows, "So it might be too soon for this."

He looked conflicted, his head shaking slightly with different invading thoughts.

"Charlie," I urged, "Just say it." I placed one hand on his, encouraging him. He relaxed, breathing in deeply before continuing.

"I think I'm in love with her, Lucy," he admitted, his bright green eyes meeting mine, resembling a look of concern.

A grin spread across my lips. 

"I know," I admitted, not being able to contain my happiness. 

His eyes shot up from where they were focused on the table.

"What?"

"I'm not blind, Charlie. You're hopelessly romantic."

He chuckled and sighed heavily.

"I didn't realize it was that obvious. Do you think it's okay to ask her out on a date? She's vulnerable after the...you know...and I don't want it to seem like I'm taking advantage of that."

His voice dripping in sincerity, he sighed deeply. He was genuinely concerned, not for himself but for Zoya. That's what proved that he really did love her. 

"You should do it," I stated, causing his eyes to widen the slightest bit. "You're just what Zoya needs, Charlie."

I'd never seen him happier, his lips settling into a smile that I now miss.

"It's just that whenever I'm with her, I feel like she's the only one who matters. I want to make her happy, no matter what. Have you ever felt like that, Lucy?"

He and I both knew the answer to that question, and it seemed like he read my mind.

"So, you and Peter, huh?"

I blushed involuntarily, glaring at him for bringing you up. I was going to argue, but there was no point in denying it.

"You don't have to say anything," he said, "Just know that you totally have my blessing. And thanks, Lucy. He's back to being the Peter I once knew. " Charlie winked, knowing exactly what was going through my mind.

After that, we talked on and on about anything on our minds. When we stood up to leave, I felt the first wave of dizziness hit me. Nausea overwhelmed my senses. 

"I don't feel too well, Charlie," I admitted, putting a hand on my stomach. I felt my mind drifting in and out of consciousness, clouds of black conquering my vision. 

The last thing I remember was Charlie's wide, concerned eyes, his mouth shouting my name, and his arms catching me right before I collapsed. 

I'm not too fond of that memory, Peter, because it was the beginning of when our worlds came crashing down.