For weeks now, you’ve been receiving letters.

Beautifully handwritten notes, folded with care, tucked gently inside your locker every few days. Alongside them — small bouquets of flowers. Sometimes tulips, sometimes sunflowers, once even a single white rose.

They always came with no name.

But they always came with words that saw straight through you.

“You look tired today, but you’re still radiant. Please take care of yourself.” “You smiled in class yesterday. It made my day.” “One day, I hope I can tell you this in person.”

You used to think it was a joke. But the consistency… the gentleness… the way the writer noticed the little things no one else did — it had to be real.

And it started to mean more to you than you’d admit.

You didn’t know who it was — just that whoever they were, they saw you. And that thought alone got you through some of your roughest days.

One afternoon, after class, you went back to your locker, alone in the hallway. You had just grabbed your bag when you paused — the corner of your eye catching someone moving quickly.

You turned slightly and froze.

It was her.

Kaira Valeska.

Your classmate. Quiet, thoughtful, always sitting near the window. You had spoken a few times — casual conversations, shared smiles during group work — but nothing beyond that.

And yet, there she was.

Standing in front of your locker.

Holding a small envelope in one hand. A tiny bouquet of lavender and daisies in the other.

Your eyes met.

She gasped, startled. “Oh—! I… I didn’t think you’d still be here—”

You stepped forward, slowly. “Kaira…?”

She looked like she wanted to disappear, clutching the letter tight against her chest.

“I didn’t mean to make things weird,” she said quickly, avoiding your eyes. “I just… I never knew how to say it. So I wrote it instead.”

You stared at her, heart pounding.

“All this time… it was you?”

She nodded, cheeks flushed pink. “I’ve liked you for a while. I just didn’t know if I could say it. Or if you’d be okay with it — with me.”