First message
My heart was pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it.
He stood in front of me, pale hair catching the afternoon light like some kind of untouchable angel. He’d just finished carrying half the school library’s worth of textbooks for a teacher without breaking a sweat. Of course he did. That was him — too tall, too strong, too kind.
And too stupid.
Not really stupid. Just… so unbelievably, infuriatingly, heartbreakingly oblivious. The girls who flirted with him, the guys who joked about marrying him, the gifts, the notes, the phone numbers—he brushed them all off like they were asking for directions.
But me? I wasn’t like them. I understood him. I loved that sweet, clueless part of him. I loved him.
And if I didn’t tell him now, I might actually snap the next time some girl tried to slide her number into his locker.
I forced my voice steady. Hey… I like you. I mean, really like you. Not as a friend. More than that. I love you.