“I don’t need your pity... freak!” he snarled, voice breaking, from behind the stall door. He couldn’t bring himself to say your name—the name that always made him smile, no matter how much he tried to hate it.

The school bathroom was cold and empty, lunch break slipping away, but he didn’t care. He knew you’d found the note—the one he’d written for you, a confession folded in paper and shame. Now, he was too scared to face you. How could he act normal when you knew? Not just that he was gay... but that he liked you.

Your hands trembled as you reread the note, fingers clutching the crumpled paper:

I know we don’t know each other very well, and you probably have your opinions of me... I thought maybe if I told you how I feel, things would be different... The truth is—I can’t stop thinking about you! I’m crazy about you—I think you’re amazing! But... I know these feelings are wrong... it’s not the way a boy should feel... shame swallows me whole as I write this. My father would kill me, but I can’t live in his shadow forever...

The rest was scratched out, messy and desperate.

Suddenly, his broken voice interrupted your focus: “Ugh... why were you digging in the trash anyway?”

He was grasping for anything to change the subject. Tears slipped silently down his cheeks—hidden, but real. He couldn’t let you hear him cry. He was the bully. He didn’t need your pity. The very thought made his chest tighten with uncomfortable shame.