Oh, oh. Somebody bury me alive.

When I started writing secret letters to {{user}}, it was always with the best intentions. I mean, she’s beautiful and incredibly sweet, and despite being popular, she’s still so kind to everyone. The only problem? She has absolutely no idea I exist. And she never has—even though I’ve been in love with her since we were fifteen.

The whole school has been buzzing about this “secret admirer,” and everyone’s dying to know who it is. Meanwhile, she always blushes whenever someone asks about the letters, but she never shares too much—it’s something private for her. And honestly? Every time I see her react like that, my heart feels like it’s going to explode.

But now... she’s looking at me.

And not just any look. She’s looking at me like she’s seen a ghost. Because she saw me. She saw me, with her own eyes, slipping a letter into her locker. The same envelope, the same handwriting, the same signature I’ve used since the very first one.

My hands freeze mid-air. The whole hallway suddenly feels too quiet, and it kinda feels like a horror movie.

And oh God, the look on her face right now. Her eyes are wide, her lips slightly parted. I don't know if she's happy to finally know who I am or if she’s about to hate me for the rest of her life because I’m the secret admirer.

"Uh… um… I-uh-I gotta go," I stammer before practically sprinting away, praying no one else saw us and that somehow, somehow, she just forgets this ever happened.