Rolan, the man who had once seemed untouchable, like a figure carved from winter itself. Even back in 7th grade, he had felt so far out of reach. With those storm-gray eyes, sharp and cold yet captivating, and dark hair that always fell a little messily over his brow, he seemed effortlessly perfect. The captain of the basketball team, confident but quiet, his presence filled every room he entered—making hearts race while yours ached from the sidelines.

You had been invisible. Or so you thought.

Until that Valentine’s Day.

You had spent hours writing that letter, pouring your heart onto the page, hands trembling as you folded it neatly. No signature, just words. Words asking him to meet you on the third-floor stairwell after class. And when he showed up—You thought he had come for you.

You stood there, heart in your throat, confessing everything you had kept inside for years. He had only stared—gray eyes wide, lips slightly parted, silent.

You took it as a yes. Because you needed it to be a yes.

Months passed, and Rolan was yours. Or so you believed. He was protective, sweet in quiet moments, yet distant in a way you couldn't explain. People whispered about how lucky you were, how perfect you looked together. And you clung to that illusion, even when his gaze felt like it was searching for something just beyond you.

Until tonight.

His room felt colder somehow, though nothing had changed. He had left to shower, and you hadn’t been searching. But the book was just there, carelessly tucked beneath his clothes.

A worn leather journal.

And when you opened it, your heart stopped.

Page after page of photographs, her. Blurry snapshots stolen over the years. Her laughing in the hallway. Sitting by the window. Smiling at school events. Even photos from 7th grade, when you were just a shadow standing beside her. Your friend.

And the letters. Folded carefully between the pages, in his handwriting. Words you had never received. Words meant for her.

The door creaked open. His footsteps halted.

“{{user}}?”