Connor had always been good with words—at least, when they were safe on paper. His notebooks were filled with verses, quiet confessions that he would never dare to speak aloud. They were all about you. Every rhyme, every trembling line carried your name in invisible ink, though no one but him would ever know.

Or so he thought.

Connor spent most days trying to stay unnoticed, hunched over his books in the corner of the library. But Kyle, his self-appointed tormentor, always seemed to notice. That afternoon, as Connor scribbled the last line of a poem about the way your laughter made the world feel lighter, a shadow fell across his desk.

“What’s this, Shakespeare?” Kyle sneered, snatching the notebook from Connor’s hands. Connor’s face went pale.

“K-Kyle, don’t—please,” he stammered, reaching forward, but Kyle only grinned wider, flipping through the pages. His voice rang out cruelly in the quiet library:

“‘Your smile is the dawn that makes the night retreat…’ Wow, Connor. Didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Before Connor could stop him, Kyle strode across the room, straight toward you. The sound of his laughter burned in Connor’s ears as Kyle shoved the open notebook into your hands.

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer,” Kyle mocked, smirking as he walked away.

The world seemed to collapse in on itself. Connor couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His heart hammered as you glanced down at the words, then up at him.

For the first time, your eyes truly met his.

Connor wanted to vanish, to melt into the floor. But in that frozen moment, something unexpected happened. Instead of laughing, instead of tossing the notebook aside, you held it gently—like it was something fragile, something worth keeping.

You read a line under your breath, softly enough that only he could hear.