Yasmin's POV
I was grabbing my books in the blur between classes when something caught my eye—a neatly folded piece of paper, carefully tucked into the corner of my locker. It wasn't crumpled or careless. It looked deliberate, personal.
I hesitated, glancing around. No one was watching. I slipped it into my pocket and closed the locker as if nothing had happened, but my fingers twitched with curiosity.
The paper stayed hidden in my hand all the way home. I didn't open it on the bus. I didn't open it while walking through the front door. I waited until I was alone—behind the safety of my bedroom door, with the soft glow of evening light spilling across my bed.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the paper. The texture was slightly rough, the faint scent of fresh ink lingering in the air.
The handwriting was small and hesitant, like the writer had second-guessed every word but pushed through anyway.
It read:
Dearest Yasmin,
This might seem out of the blue, especially since we only spoke that one time, but I wanted to be honest with you about something. Since our brief meeting, I've found myself thinking about you more than I probably should. There's a spark, a connection that I felt, and it's grown into something… well, something more.
I know you have a girlfriend, and I completely respect that. This isn't meant to complicate things or overstep any boundaries, but I couldn't keep these feelings bottled up any longer.
I truly wish you all the best, Yasmin, and I hope you and your girlfriend are happy. Thank you for unknowingly sparking something within me, even if it can't go anywhere. Knowing I've said this is enough.
Sincerely,
Aleah
I stared at the page long after I finished reading. The room was quiet, but my mind wasn't.
There was something raw in the letter—not dramatic, not pleading, just honest. It felt like standing inside someone else's heart.
A flicker of guilt nudged at me. Had I really seen Aleah, even a little? The memory of her nervous smile, the way she looked at me—those moments I'd dismissed.
What hit me most wasn't the confession itself. It was the way Aleah had thanked me—for something I hadn't even realized I'd given.
She had seen me in a way few ever had. And now, through her letter, I was starting to see her.