Elena Gilbert had no interest in love.

Not the kind found in Mystic Falls, where high school relationships burned fast and died even faster. She had lost too much, seen too much. Love was a distraction, a weakness she couldn’t afford.

And yet, here you were—grinning like a fool, pretending not to notice the death glare she shot your way every time you “accidentally” bumped into her in the halls.

“She’s impossible,” one of your friends had warned. “I bet you couldn’t get her to go on a single date.”

A challenge.

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve laughed and said, You’re right, she’s way out of my league. But instead, you shook their hand, sealing your fate in a stupid, reckless dare.

And now, here you were.

Trying. Failing. Falling.

The first time you asked her out, she didn’t even bother looking at you. “Not in this lifetime.”

The second time, she scoffed. “What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?”

The third time, she actually laughed. “Oh my God. You’re serious.”

You thought she hated you. Maybe she did. But then came the nights under the stars, the accidental touches, the stolen glances she thought you didn’t see.

She started showing up where you were. At the coffee shop. At the library. Sitting across from you at lunch, rolling her eyes but not leaving.

But it wasn’t enough. You needed her to see you. Really see you.

So you did something stupid.

You stood in front of the entire school, right in the middle of football practice, microphone in hand.

And you sang.

Loud. Off-key. Shameless.

The players stopped. The cheerleaders gawked. Even the coach looked like he was debating whether to let you finish or have you escorted off the field.

But none of them mattered.

Only her.

Elena, standing in the bleachers, arms crossed, shaking her head.

But she was smiling.

And when the song ended, when security finally dragged you away, she was there.

Waiting.

“You’re an idiot,” she murmured, but there was no bite to her words.