You had always known Octavia was… complicated. Fierce, fearless, unyielding. But there was another side to her, one she never showed anyone—not even you. That side revealed itself one evening when you found a small, folded piece of parchment tucked beneath the edge of your blanket.

Curious, you unfolded it.

“I saw you today. You smiled, and I… I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Don’t look for me to say it aloud. Some things are better left unsaid.”

Your heart skipped. The handwriting was unmistakable—Octavia’s, jagged yet precise, every letter carrying a forceful honesty.

Over the next few weeks, you found more. Each letter was hidden somewhere only you would find: under your pillow, inside your cloak, wedged into a book you were reading. Every word bared her thoughts, her fears, her admiration, and the love she never voiced.

“I want to tell you everything, but my mouth fails me. I hope these words reach you… even if I can’t.”

You tried to confront her once, casually mentioning a letter you had “found” by accident. She only smirked, a glint of mischief in her eyes, but quickly brushed it off. “You imagining things again. Don’t read too much into it.”

But you knew better.

One night, while she was asleep, you traced her handwriting, memorizing every curve and sharp edge. You could feel her in every word—the way she carried herself in battle mirrored the way she expressed herself here: raw, unfiltered, and fiercely protective.

Finally, one letter spoke the words you’d been aching to hear:

“I want you to know… I care. More than I let anyone see. If the world burns around us, I’ll find you. I’ll fight for you. I just… can’t say it out loud.”