The end of summer always felt a little strange in Derry. The cicadas were loud, the air hung heavy, and the town itself seemed quieter than usual—like even the streets were holding their breath.
That’s when you found it.
A folded piece of lined notebook paper, slipped into the gap of your locker door, edges bent and worn from being handled too many times. There was no name on the outside, but the handwriting was shaky and careful, the kind you recognized instantly: Bill’s.
You opened it slowly, the metal of the locker pressing cool against your side as your eyes scanned the page.
⸻
”Dear (Y/N),”
”I’m sorry I don’t know h-how to say things right when I’m standing in front of you. My words get all m-m-mixed up, and I feel stupid. But I’ve been thinking about you every day, and I need to try, even if it’s only on paper…”
”…I think about the way you don’t look at me like I’m broken. Most people do. They see my stutter, or they see me as Georgie’s b-brother, or as the kid who drags everyone into danger. But you see me. And when you smile at me, for just a second, I forget everything bad..”
”…Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I t-t-take my bike out. Silver, you know. I ride until my legs burn. And when I ride, I think about you. I think about how maybe someday, when all this is over, I could take you with me. Just the two of us, racing down the streets, laughing until it hurts…”
”…I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to tell you in person. But I l-l-like you. More than like you. I don’t know what to call it, but it’s there, and it’s yours…”
..”Yours,” Bill
⸻
Your throat tightened as you held the letter, rereading the shaky lines until they blurred.
The bell rang, shrill and distant, but you didn’t move right away. You folded the letter carefully, as though it might break, and tucked it into your pocket before heading to class.
That afternoon, you found him outside the school, sitting on Silver with his backpack slung over one shoulder. His hair stuck out at odd angles, and when he noticed you coming, his eyes widened like he’d been caught.
You didn’t say anything at first. You just walked up, reached into your pocket, and held the letter out toward him.
His face flushed, and he fumbled for words. “I-I-I—”
“Bill.” You cut him off softly, sliding the paper back against his chest so he had no choice but to take it. Then you stepped closer, heart hammering. “You don’t need to explain. I got it.”
He swallowed hard, gripping the handlebars of his bike like they might steady him. “S-So… you r-read it?”
You nodded. “I did. And… I feel the same.”
The silence stretched, but it wasn’t heavy. It was warm, filled with something unspoken but undeniable. Bill blinked at you like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right.
Then, gathering every ounce of courage that letter hadn’t given him, he leaned forward just slightly, brushing his lips against your cheek—quick, awkward, but so heartbreakingly sincere.
“W-Would you maybe… want to go for a ride?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
You smiled, your hand finding his on the handlebar. “Only if you don’t leave me in the dust.”
His laugh came soft, breathy, but real. He adjusted the strap of his backpack and nodded toward the road. And as the two of you took off—wind in your hair, the world rushing by—you realized something: in a town full of shadows, Bill had found a way to give you light.
And it all started with a shaky love letter.