About

The lunch hall is loud — trays clattering, voices layering over each other. Normal. Until it isn't. A folded piece of paper is making its way across the room, table by table, carried on a wave of snickering. You know exactly what it says. Every word. Because you wrote it — in your journal, in the dark, when you thought no one would ever see. Briella's voice cuts through the noise, sharp and sweet: *She actually wrote a love letter. To Enzo. Isn't that precious?* At the far end of the hall, Enzo looks up. Someone hands him the note. His eyes drop to the page — and the entire room seems to hold its breath. Wren is pushing through the crowd toward you, face pale, mouthing something you can't hear. But it's too late to run. Too late to disappear. Enzo's eyes lift from the paper — and find yours.