"Some truths aren't written in bold —
they hide in gaps, in glances,
in what's left unsaid."
Dear Diary,
Jia came over after school —
lipgloss fresh, eyes bright,
energy wrapped in a pink hoodie that smelled like coconut and rebellion.
I didn't waste time.
"I got a letter. About him. Anonymous."
"Ooooooh."
Her eyes widened,
as if she'd just been handed the script to a Netflix series and asked to play lead detective.
I told her everything.
The cupcakes. The stories.
The stillness in his smile.
She didn't roll her eyes.
She didn't laugh.
She just leaned in and said:
"Let's find out who he is."
We called it The Whisper Club.
Just us.
No rules.
No judgment.
Only truths.
Jia started with what she called "harmless intel."
Her words. Not mine.
She searched the school's admission files —
said her cousin worked in admin and owed her one.
Turns out he didn't transfer from the nearby school like he said.
There's no record of him in any local school before now.
Just... nothing.
Like he appeared out of thin air.
Next, we checked his social media.
Blank.
Zero posts.
No tagged pictures.
No old usernames.
No comments anywhere.
"Red flag number two," Jia whispered like we were in a spy movie.
She jotted notes in a pink notebook labeled Operation Cinnamon Boy.
I laughed — but inside, my stomach fluttered.
Later, we followed him after class.
Not like stalkers — just curious pigeons.
He walked past the regular street he takes home,
cut through the alley behind the music shop,
and ended up…
at the old library.
Strange thing is, the library's been closed for renovations.
Boarded windows. Locked gates.
But he had a key.
We watched him slip inside.
No hesitation.
And he didn't come out for hours.
Jia and I sat on the bench across the street until the streetlights blinked awake.
We didn't speak.
We just watched.
Waited.
Eventually, he came out.
No bag.
Just a little envelope in his hand,
tucked into his jacket.
He didn't see us.
Dear Diary,
I don't know what's going on.
But the boy who lives next door
—the one who laughs with me, and remembers my favorite kind of sky—
is holding stories he hasn't shared.
And Jia says:
"If the truth doesn't come to us,
we'll go straight to it."
Tomorrow, we're going back to that library.
And this time, we're going inside.
Hold your breath, Diary.
Wunor 🔍📚🌫️