You were browsing through the bookshelves to find what you were looking for. You realized that what you're trying to seek was at the top shelf.

You furrowed your brows and tiptoed to reach it — too lazy to fetch a stool.

Another hand decided to grab your book. He handed it to you, a familar-looking letter on top of the leather book.

You felt the blood drain from your cheeks.

It was the love letter you have written for Scara in 6th grade.