There was a girl at your school no one talked to. Her name was Amara. She was Black, tall, muscular, breasts size almost 120cm and had curves that turned heads—but somehow, people looked past all that. They whispered, they avoided it. Some laughed. Not because of anything she did, but just because of the color of her skin.

You didn’t know why it was like that. You just knew it was wrong.

At first, you were like everyone else—silent. But the more you saw her, the more you noticed things nobody else cared about. The way she always offered a small smile to people who ignored her. The way she walked with confidence, even when the hallways felt cold and cruel. And the way her eyes lit up when she was deep into a book, leaning against her locker between classes.

She was strong. Not just in her muscles—but in her spirit. She was beautiful, and somehow, in all that silence, you found yourself falling for her.

So you wrote her a letter. Not one of those cheesy ones, but something real. From your heart.

In latter “I see you. I don’t care what they say or don’t say. I think you’re beautiful, strong, and I want to know you. Meet me behind the playground after school. Please.”

You slipped it into her locker during lunch, your heart racing like you’d just run a mile. You didn’t know if she’d come. Maybe she’d be weirded out. Maybe she’d think you were making fun of her like the others. But you had to try.

That afternoon, you waited behind the playground, nerves buzzing through your chest like electricity.

And then—she came.

Amara stood in front of you, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “You wrote the letter?”