The thing about crushing on someone like Aiden Blake was this: it wasn't just a crush. It was a full-time job. There were shifts to manage—morning glances, lunchtime swoons, afternoon heartaches. And Ellie Bennett? She worked overtime.
It had been two weeks since the hallway humiliation incident, and yet, she still found herself catching her breath whenever Aiden walked by. He barely spoke to anyone outside his academic circle, and even then, he used words like "rudimentary" and "preposterous" like he was auditioning for the BBC. But Ellie loved that about him. She loved everything about him.
His voice. His handwriting. The way he didn't laugh at stupid jokes.
The way he made her feel like a girl in a novel—tragically unseen and impossibly smitten.
And so, on a rainy Tuesday evening with thunder rumbling like a warning in the distance, Ellie did something reckless. Something that screamed teenage desperation and romantic delusion.
She wrote him a letter.
It wasn't neat—her handwriting always looked like it had been scrawled by a left-handed squirrel—but it was heartfelt. Honest. The way all impossible love stories begin.
> Dear Aiden,
I know you probably don't know who I am—or maybe you do and just think I'm ridiculous—but I've liked you for a long time. Not just the 'I think he's cute' kind of like, but the kind where I notice everything. The way you tap your pen three times before answering a hard question. The way you pretend to be asleep on school trips so no one talks to you.
You're brilliant. And I'm not. But I think that's okay.
Anyway... I just thought you should know.
—Ellie B.
It wasn't perfect, but it was real. She folded the letter into a tiny square and stared at it for at least fifteen minutes, debating whether to bin it or burn it. Instead, the next morning, she slid it into the pocket of her school blazer and took it with her.
The day went on in slow motion. Every time she passed Aiden's form room, she clutched her chest like her heart might climb out and deliver the letter for her. By lunch, her courage was wearing thin.
"I can't do it," she whispered to Maddy and Jasmine, the three of them crouched behind the vending machines like secret agents. "It's mad. What was I thinking?"
"You were thinking like a girl in love," Jasmine said with a dramatic sigh. "Which means you've officially lost your mind."
"Do it," Maddy said. "If he laughs, so what? He's a robot in a school tie."
But Ellie didn't think he was a robot. Not really. She thought he was a boy who'd built a fortress of brilliance around himself to avoid people. And maybe—just maybe—he needed someone to knock on the gate.
At exactly 1:27 p.m., while the corridors buzzed with post-lunch noise, Ellie slipped the folded letter into the front of Aiden's locker.
Then she ran.
Not dramatically, not full sprint. But fast enough that her skirt swished and her bag bounced and her heart was positively threatening a cardiac episode.
She didn't see his face when he found the letter.
But she heard it.
Fifteen minutes later, the Year 11 English class fell into dead silence when Aiden Blake stood up, letter in hand, and said, in that slow, deliberate voice of his, "Normally, I ignore trivial interruptions. But I feel compelled to address this... literary travesty."
Ellie froze in her seat.
He unfolded the letter like it was an ancient scroll and began reading it aloud. Every word. Her words. Pausing occasionally to correct a grammatical error. "Split infinitive here," he muttered once. "Misuse of 'your'—common mistake."
The room erupted in laughter.
Ellie didn't feel her face go red. She felt it ignite.
She wanted to disappear. To melt into her chair, sink into the carpet, tunnel out of the school and start a new life as a goat farmer in Wales. Anything but sit there while Aiden Blake turned her confession into a comedy routine.
When it was over, he folded the letter with neat precision, placed it on the teacher's desk, and sat down like nothing had happened.
Ellie didn't cry. Not right away.
She waited until she was safely hidden in the music room, behind a stack of broken keyboards, before the tears came hot and fast.
"I'm such an idiot," she whispered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
She was an idiot.
But she was an idiot in love.