I love her.

This was something that echoed throughout the corners of my mind like a prayer or a mantra.

I love her.

It would ring in my ear from when I opened my ears in the morning till I laid down to go to sleep—sometimes it'd echo in my dreams too.

I love her.

Nothing could drown it out. Music, other people talking, white noise, my own thoughts. The whisper in my head spoke over everyone and everything. A mental record stuck on repeat making sure I never forget that one lyric.

For lack of a better word, I've been obsessed with Cecile for a long time. I'm not sure when it happened. It wasn't a love at first sight kind of thing—no that'd be silly... and cliché. It was a gradual thing. I met her and figured I could see myself having feelings for her in someway. Pretty, nice, friendly, smart, and a little sarcastic without being too scathing.

She was my type.

I wasn't sure if I was her type. There's a chance she's into ginger guys who suck at talking, mutter to themesleves, and can't take two steps without tipping on air.

But I didn't care if she did.

Over the years she stopped being a girl-shaped cluster of adjectives I liked and become more three dimensional—more real.

Not that she wasn't before, it took several years of being in the same classes as her, running into her in the hallway, and sitting next to her on long bus rides during field trips to realize that.

That's when the voice started. Carving the same three words into my mind until hearing it was a natural as breathing.

However, even though I knew I was in love with Cecile. Aside from one close friend, I wasn't compelled to tell her or anyone. My crush on Cecile was—well mine. I found myself happy to go school knowing Cecile would be there. When she wasn't around or I missed my chance to talk to her, I felt more than a bit blue.

I knew one day I'd have to tell her how I felt, but that day didn't have to be soon. I'd tell her when I was ready.

Even though I didn't want to tell Cecile the truth. I still needed an outlet for all my feelings.

So I wrote her letters. Some short, some long, some reminiscing about what happened that day, others filled with queries about the future. Those letters ended up being the only thing to quiet the voice down. Even then I still hear a dull murmur in my ears.

I'd write one letter a day on white and pink stationary. When I finished I'd fill the edges with little drawings and seal it in a small white envelope.

I kept them in a box under my bed, and I never looked at them again. I didn't see any point in doing so. But, I liked to think one day I'd look through them, find the best ones, and give them to Cecile.

If I was bored, I'd write a letter at school — I had to be stealthy though. I kept letters I wrote at school in the front pocket of my backpack, and held them together with a rubber band. I kept nothing else in that pocket and made sure they didn't fall out if I did open it for whatever reason.

Until I wasn't.

The start of a new school year that's when I made my mistake. It started off as a normal day, everyone dressed in their Regent Secondary uniform: girls in a white blouse and red plaid skirt, boys in a shirt and tie with grey pants.

It being late September, the morning air had a wet chill mixed in with it, like it might rain soon. Most people, my self included, wore hoodies or light jackets over our black school sweaters. Our sweaters, thin and cheaply made, didn't keep us warm, but acted as a place to hold the school's coat of arms. Luckily the building was warm—once inside we could lose the extra layers.

I opened my locker and pulled off my hoodie. The hood a few inches away from the hook when I heard a loud bang accompanied with a shout. I jumped and a small yelp escaped my lips. A few people looked my way. They snickered. I felt the back of my ears burn.

Sighing, I closed my locker to see the one responsible for the jump scare. It was who I thought it'd be, a tall athletic boy with dark skin and a big stupid smile on his face.

"Dammit, Tyrone," I said picking my hoodie up from the floor.

"I told you not to do that."

I opened my locker and hung it in back.

"Which is why I keep doing it," Tyrone said. He leaned against my door. He wore a stylish black trench coat over his uniform and a blue scarf around his neck. It was chilly but not enough for a scarf, we both knew that.

Tyrone just wore it because it looked good on him.

"Hey, when's that history project due? The one where we had to pretend we're a WWII solider writing letters home?" Tyrone asked.

He wore that half smile he uses when he's about to ask for a favour. Sometimes I find it weird I notice stuff like this about him. But, seeing as we've been friends for almost decade—it be weird if I didn't.

I chuckled. "We're writing letters as a WWI solider and it was due yesterday."

Tyrone sighed.

"Let me guess, you want me to help you finish your homework, because you were out with one of your 'lady friends' and lost track of time?"

"Didn't think a cherry boy like you would pick up on that, but yeah pretty much."

I cringed and the burning sensation creeped over my ears again.

"Tyrone, you can't..." I leaned and whispered the next part of my sentence.

"You can't call me a cherry boy. Geez that's not what bros do."

"That's exactly what bros do. Guys are supposed to be dicks to each other everybody knows that."

I sucked my teeth.

"Okay. Well, this bro should get to bio."

I took my textbook from the top shelf and shut my locker. I turned to Tyrone.

"And you dicked yourself out of getting any help from me," I said before turning on my heel and walking away.

I smirked when Tyrone griped my shoulder.

"W-wait. I get it. Pinched a nerve—I'm sorry okay? You're not a cherry boy—I mean you are but I won't say to your face anymore."

I turned around. "That implies you'll say it to other people."

Tyrone forced himself to laugh as he does when he's lying about something.

"I.. wouldn't do that. Heh."

I sighed,

"You've told people haven't you?"

Tyrone placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry. I only mentioned it in passing to two people. And they already suspected it before I told them. So I wasn't telling I was confirming."

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

"Yep.. that makes me feel so much better."

"Better enough to help a bro with his homework?"

I looked up at Tyrone and nodded. He sighed in relief and pulled out a small stack of letters. I looked through them. He'd already gotten a good start on most of them—he even finished a few.

"I have a spare after lunch—I'll work on it and hand it for you."

***

I wanted to make sure I didn't mix up Tyrone's letter with mine. Even though I kept them in separate pockets, my letters were smaller, and the colouring of the envelopes were different, I still couldn't trust myself. The chances of mixing them up were cartoonishly high. So when I placed Tyrone's letters on Ms. Clark's desk I opened my front jacket pocket just to make sure my love letters were there.

I felt my soul drain out of my body when I found that my letters were gone and in their place was a small hole I would describe as a little bigger than a stack of love letters.

I retraced my entire day. Starting at my locker and ending at Ms. Clarks classroom. I scanned the floor and the insides of desks, but I didn't see them. Which led me to believe someone either found them or threw them out. I hoped it was the latter.

Defeated I dragged my feet to my locker. If someone found them and talked, everyone including Cecile would know about the letters tomorrow. I wasn't sure what was worse, having my secret crush exposed for the whole school to see and laugh at or, not being able to it myself.

"If people talk about it," I muttered reaching for my hoodie.

I pulled it over my head.

"I'm switching schools. There's a public school not too far from my house... that'll do."

I grabbed my lock from the top shelf—never locked my locker during while I was at school, opening it slowed me down when I was late for a class. I locked before I went home though.

Nothing worth stealing was in there, but people liked to put weird stuff in unlocked lockers—I didn't want to take my chances.

With a sigh I turned to leave. I peered through the glass door. The sun was already making its descend behind the horizon and a light fog covered the ground.

I opened the door and walked out. I shivered and my breath came out in white clouds. It was a lot colder than it was this morning. Maybe I should've brought a scarf.

Hunched over, I put my hands in my pockets, my finger tips brush against something. I pull it out and find... ugh and letter. I'm tempted to throw it out, after today I never wanted look at another letter ever again.

I tear it open and unfold a piece of loose leaf paper. Written in dainty slanted and writing was a short message:

Found your letters. One the roof. Come up if you want them back.

I didn't read long enough to find out who sent the letter—I can't say cared. But I can say I never ran into that building faster in my whole life.