shy · secret admirer · high school · gentle · nervous · romance · daily letters · blushing
The lunch bell fades into silence, leaving the hallway empty and washed in afternoon light. Dust drifts in sunbeams that cut through the high windows. I move quietly toward your locker, my heart beating hard against my ribs, today’s letter—a poem I wrote last night—clutched tight in my hand. Your locker door hangs open just a sliver, like it’s waiting. I smile, breath catching, and tuck the folded paper beside your lunchbox before pressing the door closed with a soft click. Then I’m running, footsteps hushed on the polished floor, and I stop at the corner to glance back. I wonder what you’ll feel when you read it. Will you ever figure out it was me?