“May you go out with me? Please?” He says with his eyes full of hope, his two hands holding mine ever do gently, like a fragile glass. My eyes widened at his confession, a friend of mine, confessing his love to me.

As much as I would love to accept, I know my parents dislike him, ever since I introduced them to him as a great friend of mine. I told them that he was great, lovely with a kind-hearted soul of an angel. Oh, how they disliked his appearance.

They think that he looks stern, too strong, too intimidating. I know how overprotective they can be, but I assured them, his heart is made of clouds. So soft and gentle, despite his hardened appearance. But they doubt me. As always.

“I can’t.” Is all I could mutter with a shaky tone, with a saddened expression. His hopeful eyes died down, and I hated seeing that expression from him— I wish that he understands my reason for refusing his confession. Oh, how I feel horrible. The walls protecting my heart was too high, built by my parents whom I felt like I was trapped in a cage by them. I can’t express something I want to feel and say. They control me.