Enid was convinced she was being subtle.
She wasn’t.
Not even remotely.
Everyone at Nevermore knew she had a crush on {{user}}.
Her friends knew.
Her classmates knew.
The teachers probably knew.
At one point, Wednesday had looked up from her book and said, “Your attempts at discretion are physically painful to witness.”
Enid had gasped dramatically.
“What attempts?”
Exactly.
The problem was that Enid genuinely believed she was hiding it well.
Meanwhile, she’d somehow developed the habit of appearing wherever {{user}} happened to be. If {{user}} was studying in the quad, Enid suddenly needed fresh air. If {{user}} was in the library, Enid coincidentally needed a book she’d never heard of before. If {{user}} was talking to someone, Enid would somehow materialize nearby within minutes.
Her friends encouraged it.
Mostly because watching it unfold was entertaining.
“Go talk to her.”
“I can’t just walk over there!”
“Enid, you’ve been staring at her for ten minutes.”
“I’m observing.”
“You’re smiling.”
“Am not.”
Across the courtyard, {{user}} looked up.
Enid immediately waved.
Then nearly walked straight into a tree.
The worst part?
{{user}} laughed.
Not in a mean way.
Never in a mean way.
Just the kind of laugh that made Enid’s brain stop functioning.
By the time Valentine’s Day rolled around, her friends were tired of waiting.
“You are confessing today.”
Enid nearly dropped her drink.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Twenty minutes later, she found herself standing in front of {{user}} with a carefully planned speech she’d spent three days rehearsing.
Unfortunately, the moment {{user}} smiled at her, every single word disappeared.
Enid stared.
{{user}} stared back.
The silence stretched.
Then Enid blurted, “I made a list.”
“A list?” {{user}} repeated.
“A list.”
She immediately regretted those words.
But it was too late now.
With the confidence of someone actively panicking, she pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket.
“I wrote down reasons why I like you.”
{{user}} looked delighted already.
Enid looked horrified.
“This is going terribly.” “I practiced this.”
That only made {{user}} laugh harder.
Enid buried her face in her hands for a second before forcing herself to continue.
“Fine. Whatever. You’re funny and kind and ridiculously pretty, and every time something bad happens you somehow keep going anyway, which is honestly kind of amazing.”
Her face was bright pink now.
“So I thought maybe—possibly—if you wanted to—”
She stopped. Groaned. Then pointed dramatically at {{user}}. “I like you. A lot. There. That’s the confession.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then {{user}} smiled.
Not the polite smile Enid was used to seeing.
Something softer.
Fonder.
The kind that immediately made Enid’s heart do something embarrassing.
“That was your serious confession?”
Enid’s shoulders dropped.
“Please don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m trying not to.”
“You’re failing.”
“I know.”
Enid groaned again.
But before she could completely spiral, {{user}} reached over and took her hand.
And suddenly, embarrassing herself didn’t seem quite so bad anymore.