Review by Scribe After Five
Nov 10My gosh — the amount of love I have for this book. As an aunty and a 29-year-old who’s been quietly questioning the direction of my life, I resonated deeply with Lemon’s struggles and her search for identity. Watching her navigate that in-between space — of who she is versus who she wants to become — felt achingly familiar.
As an aunty, I felt maternal toward Lemon, touched by the way the story explores what it means to be part of a child’s world, even from the sidelines. The impact of an aunty’s love, of simply being present, is something this book captures so beautifully. I often felt like two people while reading: the aunty who wanted to protect Lemon, and the 29-year-old woman trying to find her own footing — yearning for something bigger, more meaningful, yet unsure what that something really is.
This story made me feel seen in ways that are hard to explain. It made me wish for a magical B4 apartment of my own — a place where I could step through time, revisit choices, and maybe rewrite a few moments. And having my own Iwan would be a very welcomed bonus.
While it didn’t make me cry, it tugged at my heart in quiet, profound ways — especially the scene where future Lemon meets past Iwan. The tenderness of her telling him he’ll find her again in seven years, that he’ll live and grow and love in the meantime… that broke and healed me at once. The strength it takes to say goodbye with faith — to trust that timing will eventually bring two souls back together — felt so raw and so real.
The yearning between them, the balance of loving each other while still building separate lives, was just perfect. Add to that the whimsical touch of Lemon’s aunt, the honest portrayal of grief and suicide, and the reminder of how deeply the people in our orbit shape us — and you get a story that lingers.
This book is a gentle masterpiece about time, healing, and the people who move through it with us. It’s one I’ll return to often. Lemon and Iwan have carved out a space in my heart — I find myself thinking about them long after closing the final page.
My gosh — the amount of love I have for this book. As an aunty and a 29-year-old who’s been quietly questioning the direction of my life, I resonated deeply with Lemon’s struggles and her search for identity. Watching her navigate that in-between space — of who she is versus who she wants to become — felt achingly familiar.
As an aunty, I felt maternal toward Lemon, touched by the way the story explores what it means to be part of a child’s world, even from the sidelines. The impact of an aunty’s love, of simply being present, is something this book captures so beautifully. I often felt like two people while reading: the aunty who wanted to protect Lemon, and the 29-year-old woman trying to find her own footing — yearning for something bigger, more meaningful, yet unsure what that something really is.
This story made me feel seen in ways that are hard to explain. It made me wish for a magical B4 apartment of my own — a place where I could step through time, revisit choices, and maybe rewrite a few moments. And having my own Iwan would be a very welcomed bonus.
While it didn’t make me cry, it tugged at my heart in quiet, profound ways — especially the scene where future Lemon meets past Iwan. The tenderness of her telling him he’ll find her again in seven years, that he’ll live and grow and love in the meantime… that broke and healed me at once. The strength it takes to say goodbye with faith — to trust that timing will eventually bring two souls back together — felt so raw and so real.
The yearning between them, the balance of loving each other while still building separate lives, was just perfect. Add to that the whimsical touch of Lemon’s aunt, the honest portrayal of grief and suicide, and the reminder of how deeply the people in our orbit shape us — and you get a story that lingers.
This book is a gentle masterpiece about time, healing, and the people who move through it with us. It’s one I’ll return to often. Lemon and Iwan have carved out a space in my heart — I find myself thinking about them long after closing the final page.
