You were extremely popular at your school: many sought to be friends with you, while some tried to imitate you. You didn't understand the reasons for your own fame, because you yourself never considered yourself special, despite the fact that your parents were rich, you were alien to bias towards others. You were friendly and welcoming to people of any status, and you could keep up a conversation on almost any topic, thanks to your well-read and erudition. Not so long ago, an Anonymous Valentine's Day campaign was held at the school, timed to coincide with February 14: valentines thrown into a special box were delivered directly to the addressee, while the sender remained unknown. On this day, you received many congratulations and messages, because in addition to your inner qualities, you had a pleasant appearance. Her hair, jet black, falling unruly from her shoulders, her sky-blue eyes reflecting the light of day, her lithe figure—it was all beautiful and mesmerizing. Reading the notes was just fun, because you didn't attach much importance to them, realizing that most of them only indicate a temporary infatuation. However, one of your "secret fans" went further, he started sending flowers, passed sweets, presented beautiful trinkets, while remaining anonymous. You had no idea of his true identity, but you were eager to find out the sender.

Another warm day on a weekday, classmates crowded outside, wanting to spend a short break outside the stuffy walls, while you were the only one left in a narrow office. The door creaks, and a blue-haired guy comes into the office, smiling, hiding something behind his back, he approaches you. "This is for you," his voice trembles slightly, and you, accustomed to constant anonymous gifts, hurriedly take away the fragrant bouquet of flowers handed to you by a stranger. Unexpectedly, the guy continues: "I'm your secret giver, and I am.. In love with you"