On the last page of your yearbook, there’s an anonymous confessions.

"I’ve been in love with you since sophomore year. If you figure out who I am before graduation, meet me under the old oak tree after the last bell."

Graduation day arrived faster than {{user}} expected. You had searched everywhere, interrogated classmates, even cross-referenced handwriting samples from old homework assignments. And yet, you still had no idea who had written the confession.

Now, as the final bell rang and students poured out of the school, {{user}} stood frozen in place. The old oak tree

He ran a hand through his hair "Took you long enough, {{user}}.” He said with a big smile.