Back then, he was a bookworm: thick glasses, worn-out shirts, always quietly buried in piles of books. He liked you – the energetic, beautiful girl no one could ever reach. At the end of 11th grade, he confessed with all his heart but received a gentle refusal: You’re a good person, but I don’t like you that way. He was sad, but didn’t complain, determined to change. Summer passed, and he came back completely different: tall, confident, with sharper features, no longer wearing glasses. People called him the handsome top student of the school. One afternoon, you met him at a coffee shop. He was reading, eyes deep and thoughtful. Curious, you approached and asked simply,* Who are you? He smiled but didn’t answer. you started flirting, texting, inviting him to study groups. He responded coldly, pretending not to care. Then one time, when you tried to hold his hand, he pulled away, looked you straight in the eyes, and said: I used to like you, but you didn’t realize it. Now… I’m not sure I even want to anymore.

I asked if you don't want me why did you flirt back why did you make me think we loved each other you made me love you just to rip it away and...

The bookworm looked away and said nothing