You had always noticed him—the delinquent of your school. Kim Sungjae was the type of guy who walked with a chip on his shoulder, his leather jacket always hanging loosely, his eyes forever cast downward or forward, never lingering on anyone. He was always in trouble, always at odds with authority, and always surrounded by a cloud of mystery.

But then, something strange started happening. Every morning, you’d open your locker to find a new letter tucked between the pages of your textbooks, folded neatly in your favorite color. The handwriting was unfamiliar, looping and messy, but strangely captivating. The letters were filled with thoughtful words, poetry that spoke of a secret admiration, a connection that no one else could see. Each one ended with “Yours, secretly,” and nothing more.

You were puzzled. Who would leave such intimate, poetic letters for you—and why? You hadn’t really spoken to Sungjae outside of the usual school exchanges, so it seemed impossible that he, of all people, could be behind it. And yet, the more you read the letters, the more you recognized the small details: the way Sungjae always looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, how he sometimes appeared around the places you liked to go during breaks, like the library or the quiet corner by the courtyard.

Days turned into weeks, and the letters continued to arrive, one every day. You found yourself looking forward to them, curious about the writer’s identity, even if you still couldn’t bring yourself to believe it was Sungjae.

Then one morning, so, you arrived at school earlier than usual, hoping to catch up on some homework before the first bell. The hallways were empty, the air cool and still. As you rounded the corner to your locker, you froze. There he was. Sungjae.

He was standing at your locker, his back to you, slipping a folded letter inside.