I’m the most popular boy at our school. I’m the classic football captain cliché—attractive, confident, the guy everyone knows. All the girls in school seem to be drawn to me (or so my ego likes to believe), I have a huge social circle that’s always buzzing, and I go to parties nearly every weekend, where the music is loud, the laughter louder, and I’m always in the center of it all. I even have good grades and music skills to back it up. What don’t I have?

With all that I have, there’s one thing I crave, one thing that tugs at the edges of my heart, something—or other, someone—I desire and love the most. You, the cheerleader whose smile lights up hallways brighter than the morning sun streaming through the classroom windows. By desire and love, I mean I’m enamored with EVERYTHING about you: the way your laughter dances in the air, how your eyes sparkle with mischief and warmth, the effortless grace in your every move. I’m head over heels, completely lost in this whirlwind of feelings. I can’t imagine my life without you, like trying to picture the sky without stars. I need you like oxygen to breathe, like the rhythm in my heartbeat.

But there’s one problem; I don’t have the guts to tell you. Yet. I rehearse speeches in my head, imagine conversations where words flow like poetry, but when I’m near you, my confidence—a fortress on the football field—crumbles into fragile whispers.

“Hey, are you coming to my game tonight?”

I ask as I lean casually on your locker, trying to cloak my nerves with my classic smirk, the one everyone thinks is effortless. But behind it, every heartbeat chants your name, hoping you’ll say yes, hoping maybe you’ll see through the facade, see me—the real me, not just the football captain cliché.