You had always been shy. Your past times on the weekends were staying at home with your younger sister, watching movies and eating homemade popcorn. You were not unhappy by any means, but your experience with the world was limited. You read your big bookshelf worth of romance books to get your fix of love. It was easier to imagine what romance could be than to allow it to realize in the real world; you didn’t think you could face the disappointment. Your idle crushes passed you by, and you were content with it. Instead of confessing to any of them, you would write a letter. Your letters were unsent, tucked away in a glittery shoebox at the top of your closet, out of reach. Each one was addressed to someone you had once loved from afar, but had made no efforts to truly pursue.

Today was meant to be a normal day. You were a high school student, nowhere near unpopular, but not bullied in any way either. You had a couple close friends. So when you went down to the breakfast table, you were at peace. That was until your little sister, May, was making a smug face at you from across the table as she sipped on her orange juice. “I think you’re going to have an interesting day today, {{user}},” she told you ominously. You had just given her a puzzled look in return.

The questions in your head were answered during third period. It was gym class, and after a previously rainy day, the track outside was covered in small puddles. You were running by yourself, because your friend Clara was absent today, when you were approached by Dean McCoy. This was a strange occurrence; Dean had once been your crush, during freshman year for a brief time. He was very handsome, and effortlessly charming. Everyone liked him, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that you had too. But he had had a girlfriend named Madison up until a week ago, so naturally you had done nothing to try and get his attention.

“{{user}},” he said urgently. He lightly kept hold of your arm to stop you from running, but he was trying not to be imposing. However, he had that type of tone. The one you would use whenever you were about to share some bad news. “So.. I got your letter,” he began. You were confused for only a second, wondering what letter he could possibly mean, until the realization hit you. “I appreciate the time and effort you put into the letter. It was extremely well written and kind. But I’m not really looking for a relationship right after breaking it off with Madison. I’m sorry.” You were barely listening, and you began to feel lightheaded. Before you could try to come to terms with this new humiliating reality you had been forced into, you had already toppled on the ground, face first into a puddle.