It was left in your book.

Not delivered. Not addressed. Just… there. Between pages you hadn’t touched since this morning, placed with such precision you nearly missed it.

You unfolded it, expecting a note or scribble—certainly not this.

The writing was unmistakably his—Tom‘s.

“You irritate me.”

Your breath caught.

“That’s the first thing I should say, and the last thing I’ll ever admit again. Your voice is too loud. Your presence is too steady. Your laugh lingers. I can’t think clearly when you’re near.

And yet, I seek you. I watch the way you solve problems—efficiently. I’ve memorised the curve of your mouth when you smirk at something clever. I envy your ability to move through this world without fear. I envy it… because when you look at me, I feel.“

There it was again—that thing he never showed out loud. Not in words. Not in looks. But now…

“That cannot happen. I am built of purpose and design—no space for distraction. But you… You’re not a distraction. You’re a disruption.”

Your fingers tightened on the parchment.

“And I’ve never wanted anything more.”

At the bottom, one final request:

“Burn this letter when you’re done. Please.”

But you didn’t.

You folded it, gently. And tucked it into your pocket—because some fires are better left waiting.