"Some days don't feel like chapters —
they feel like commas in a long sentence
you never want to end."
Dear Diary,
The sky was shy today.
It peeped through cotton clouds,
throwing just enough light through my window
to warm the floor and nothing more.
He came over this afternoon.
Mum likes him — maybe a little too much.
She offered him mango juice in the pretty glasses she only brings out when the pastor visits.
She winked at me when he wasn't looking.
I blushed hard enough to need a pillow to hide in.
We decided to bake something.
Neither of us really knew how,
but we said "how hard can it be?"
Famous last words, right?
The kitchen turned into a flour-snowed battlefield.
Laughter spilled everywhere.
He flicked a bit of batter at me —
so I retaliated with a sprinkle of sugar to his nose.
Somewhere between the mess and the strawberries,
a peace settled in.
He looked at me with those eyes again.
The ones that don't stare — they listen.
And I knew right then:
It wasn't the cupcakes I'd remember.
It was the quiet joy.
The way the afternoon wrapped around us like a lazy song.
But just as we pulled the golden tray from the oven,
something shifted.
Mum called me to the hallway.
A letter had arrived.
No stamp. No return address. Just my name — handwritten.
Inside:
"He isn't who you think he is.
Be careful, Wunor."
That's all.
No signature.
No explanation.
Just that.
I didn't say anything to him as we ate the cupcakes.
I smiled.
I nodded.
I laughed.
But inside me,
a question bloomed like a bruise:
What don't I know?
Tonight, the page feels heavy.
He's still the boy I laughed with in the kitchen.
Still the boy who walked me home in the rain.
But now there's a shadow behind his smile —
one I didn't notice before.
Should I ask him?
Should I wait?
Or should I pretend nothing's changed
until it does?
Sweet dreams, Diary.
If only life were as easy as baking.
Wunor 🧁🕯️💌