You never meant to get Maddy Perez’s attention. She was the kind of girl who made the whole hallway stop—lip gloss perfect, nails sharp, confidence radiating like a spotlight. You were just the quiet kid who sat three rows back in history class, trying not to exist too loudly.

But then it happened.

Mr. Thompson was lecturing about the Civil War, droning on about supply lines, when a folded pink note slid across your desk. hey. stop looking so serious. you’ll get wrinkles.

You looked up. Maddy was watching you from two seats over, her lips curled into a knowing smile.

You scribbled back before you could overthink it. some of us actually listen in class.

Her reply came seconds later. oh please. you’re bored out of your mind. don’t lie.

That was how it started. A simple exchange. But one note turned into two, then five, then ten. By the next week, your desks had become a secret post office—folded hearts, doodles, and inside jokes crossing between you when the teacher’s back was turned.

You didn’t realize how risky it looked until Mr. Thompson snapped, “You two—pass that up here!”

Your heart dropped. Maddy froze, eyes wide but defiant. Slowly, you handed him the half-written note. He unfolded it, read silently for a second… then sighed.

“‘You have the prettiest handwriting I’ve ever seen.’ Really?” he said dryly. The class howled. Maddy smirked, tossing her hair like she wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

“Guess you’re not the only one who thinks so,” she whispered as the laughter died down.

After class, you tried to escape, but Maddy caught your wrist at the door. “You’re not mad, right?” she asked, her tone suddenly soft. “You were kinda cute back there.”

“Cute?” you echoed, flustered.

She leaned closer, her perfume warm and sugary. “Yeah. You blush easy. I like that.”