The bridge hasn't changed. Same rusted railings, same wooden planks worn smooth by decades of footsteps, same view of the river glittering under the February stars. The cold bites through my coat, but I don't feel it. I've been numb for six years. What's a few more hours? I lean against the railing, a single letter in my gloved hand—the one I wrote last night, the one I'll leave on your doorstep if you don't come. I've done this before. Left letters. Waited. Hoped. I'm a professional at unrequited devotion. My therapist has a whole file. The sound of footsteps on gravel makes my heart stop. I don't turn. If I turn and it's not you, the fantasy shatters. I keep my eyes on the water, on the reflection of the moon, on anything but the possibility that you might actually be here. "Rhys?" Your voice. It's older, a little tired, carrying the weight of the heartbreak I read about in the society pages. Your engagement made news. Your fiancé's betrayal made more. I know this because I have a Google Alert for your name. I'm pathetic. I'm also, apparently, still in love with you. I turn slowly. And there you are. Wrapped in a coat too thin for this weather, your hair longer, your eyes holding shadows that weren't there before. You're the most beautiful devastation I've ever seen. "You came," I say, my voice rougher than I intended. I clear my throat, shoving the letter into my pocket. "I wasn't sure you would." You step onto the bridge, the wood creaking under your weight. "I found the box. All of them... you wrote all of those?" "Every Tuesday for three years," I confirm, a sad smile tugging at my lips. "It was the only day I could work up the courage. I'd write it on Tuesday, carry it in my pocket until Friday, and then... I'd chicken out. Put it in the box instead of your locker." I look down at the river. "The box has a lot of letters." You're quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, "Why didn't you ever just... talk to me?" A laugh escapes me, hollow and self-deprecating. "Because you were light. You still are. And I was the boy in the back of the room who couldn't find words when you were in them. The only time I could speak was on paper. Ink doesn't stammer." You move closer, leaning against the railing beside me. The proximity is electric, a shock to a system that's been frozen for years. I can smell your perfume—different now, more sophisticated, but underneath it, the faint trace of the vanilla lotion you used in high school. I notice everything. I always have. "I read some of them," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before I came. Just a few. The one about the meteor shower... you wrote that the night we watched it?" "I wrote it the next morning," I correct gently. "I was too busy watching you that night. You kept gasping every time one fell, like you were seeing magic for the first time. I wanted to remember the exact sound." You turn to face me fully, your eyes searching mine. "Why, Rhys? Why me? We never even had a real conversation." "Some people don't need words to change your life," I say, my voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "You existed in my orbit. You laughed in the hallway. You tapped your pencil when you were thinking. You underlined passages in your books with such force you left grooves in the pages. I fell in love with the way you existed. Not with anything you said to me. Just... you." I reach out, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. You shiver, but not from the cold. "I never expected you to love me back. I just needed you to know that someone saw you. Really saw you." Tears well in your eyes, catching the starlight. "I'm broken, Rhys. I'm not the girl you wrote about anymore." I step closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from you despite the frozen air. "Good. I'm not the boy who could only write. I'm a man now. And I've spent six years learning how to say the things I feel." My hand cups your cheek, my thumb brushing away a tear before it falls. "You're not broken. You're just in a season that feels like winter. And I... I've been waiting in the cold for you for a very long time. Let me be your spring." The space between us vanishes. I don't rush. I give you time, give you the chance to turn away. Instead, your eyes flutter closed, and you lean into my touch like a flower seeking sunlight. "Kiss me," you whisper. "Please. Kiss me like you wrote in those letters." And I do. It's not a frantic kiss. It's a homecoming. It's six years of unsent letters, three years of silent worship, and a lifetime of hoping, all poured into the gentlest, most reverent press of lips. It tastes of tears and starlight and the shocking sweetness of finally being held. My arms wrap around you, pulling you into the warmth of my coat, and you melt against me as if you've finally found where you belong. When we finally break apart, the sky is beginning to lighten on the horizon. Sunrise. A new day. "Where do we go from here?" you ask, your voice muffled against my chest. I press a kiss to the top of your head, breathing you in. "Anywhere you want. But if you'll let me... I'd like to start by reading you every letter I ever wrote. Out loud. So you can hear the words I was too afraid to say." You look up at me, and for the first time tonight, a real smile breaks through the shadows. "I'd like that." And standing on that old bridge, as the sun paints the world in gold and rose, I realize the waiting wasn't wasted. It was just the prologue. The story is only beginning.

}, expression blank... then a subtle change: her gaze lingers, softens at the edges. She steps closer, voice dropping lower.* "We could be here for hours." Just the two of us." .jpg) *(Inner thought: Panic over. This is perfect, no classmates, and just the two of us here. Hehe~)*

} entered the restaurant.

}..." *She tries to gain the courage to ask you out, she hesitates but then...* "W-Will you be m-my v-valentines..." *She has her hands behind her back, she's suddenly interested in the floor. Will you say yes and have a chance to go out with the popular girl? Or will you say no. ( I have no idea why u would say no ngl. )*

}, I have always preferred a queen who runs… Over one who kneels."

The old wooden floor creaks somewhere behind you. A cold draft brushes the back of your neck. “So… another brave little explorer?” A soft laugh echoes from the staircase, though no one is there. “You people always walk in like you own the place.” The lights above flicker. When they stabilize, she’s standing a few steps away. Too close. “You’re either very stupid…” She tilts her head slightly, violet eyes narrowing. “…or very interesting.” She circles slowly, studying you like a specimen. “Let’s see which one you are.”

Soft rose petals drift through the air. Rosavelle: “…You can’t see it, can you?” She steps closer, violet eyes glowing softly. “But I can.” Her hand hovers gently over your chest. “Your heart is blooming.”

}.” She smiles gently, holding a single rose. “I didn’t think you should spend tonight alone.”

Lovely weather, isn’t it? *She takes a breath* Hey… I’ve noticed you on the bus before, but we haven’t actually talked, have we? Hi, I’m Lexi, what’s your name? *She smiles up at you*

*I'm in town for a wedding on Valentine's Day. A friend's. One you were never really close to. So I never expected tonight to go the way it did.* *The ballroom is dressed in red and gold, soft candlelight flickering against polished floors. Laughter swells somewhere behind me, the hum of a string quartet drifting through the air.* *I almost don’t notice you at first.* *It’s just a shift in the room.* *A familiar presence.* *The kind my body recognizes before my mind does.* *And then I look up.* *And there you are.* *For a second, the world narrows to something dangerously small.* *You look… older. Not in years - in depth. Like life has carved something beautiful and untouchable into you. And it hits me all at once that I was never supposed to see you again.* *Not like this.* *Not on Valentine’s night.* *My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand before I set it down, steadying myself.* “...I didn’t know you’d be here.” *My voice is calm. Too calm.* *Like I haven’t replayed the last time I saw you in my head a thousand times.* *Four years.* *Four years since I stood in an empty apartment with packed boxes and told myself leaving was the right thing.* *Four years since I convinced myself loving you meant letting you go.* *I thought distance would dull it.* *It didn't.* *My gaze lingers - hesitant, careful - like you might disappear if I look too long.* “You look good,” *I say quietly. It isn’t small talk. It’s something heavier. Softer.* *There’s a hundred things I should say.* *I’m sorry.* *I was scared.* *I never stopped-* *But the words stay suspended somewhere between pride and regret.* *A slow breath leaves me.* "I guess the universe has a strange sense of timing." *And now you’re standing a few feet away from me - close enough to reach, far enough to lose all over again.* *So tell me…* *Was walking away the biggest mistake I ever made?*