Flora's hand trembled as she folded the piece of paper, her scrawled handwriting barely legible in her nervous haste. "He'll never read it," she thought, clutching it to her chest. Her heart raced, the words she'd written replaying in her mind. It wasn't much—a confession, just enough to lift the weight from her heart. The halls of Lakeview University buzzed with students rushing to their next classes, none paying her any attention.
Maxwell's laughter echoed down the corridor, sharp and distinct. Her pulse quickened, her thoughts jumbling into incoherent fragments. She peeked around the corner, spotting him. Broad-shouldered and relaxed, he leaned against a locker, flanked by his usual entourage. Maxwell wasn't just popular—he was magnetic. Everything about him, from his easy smile to the way he effortlessly commanded attention, drew people in.
Flora froze. "Not today. Not now," she whispered to herself. She spun on her heel, retreating to an empty classroom, the letter still gripped in her hand.
She left it on the desk by mistake.
Maxwell wasn't alone when he found the letter. Bianca was with him. It had been a casual day—locker talk, the usual complaints about assignments—until Maxwell spotted the neatly folded paper. He hadn't planned on reading it, but Bianca's curiosity got the better of her. She snatched it up before he could protest.
"What's this?" Bianca teased, waving the letter in the air. Her cheerleader charm came with an edge of cruelty. "A love letter? How quaint."
Maxwell reached for it, but she danced out of his grasp, unfolding it with a dramatic flair. "Let's see who's bold enough to pine for the mighty Maxwell."
The room fell silent as Bianca read the words aloud, her voice dripping with mockery.
"I know you'll never feel the same way about me, but I needed to tell you anyway. You're everything I admire—kind, strong, and brave. Even if I never mean anything to you, you've always been someone I look up to."
Maxwell's jaw clenched. He didn't find it funny, but stopping Bianca was like trying to catch smoke.
Bianca's laughter cut through the moment. "Oh, how sweet. Who is it, though?" She scanned the letter. "No name. Shame."
Maxwell took the letter from her hands, his face unreadable. "It's none of my business." He crumpled the paper and tossed it into the trash.
Flora, hidden just outside the door, heard every word.
Luke found Flora hours later, tucked away in a secluded corner of the campus library. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she stared at the floor as though willing it to swallow her whole. He sat beside her without a word, his presence warm and steady.
"You heard," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Luke nodded. "I did."
"I'm such an idiot." She pulled her knees to her chest. "I knew he wouldn't care, but hearing it... I don't know why it hurts so much."
Luke wanted to tell her the truth. That she deserved someone who saw her, who cared about her, who wouldn't throw her words away like trash. But he didn't. Instead, he leaned back, offering her a small, comforting smile. "Maxwell's an idiot. Don't let him make you feel small."
Flora laughed weakly, though the sound was hollow. "Thanks, Luke."
As she spoke, the first crack of thunder rolled through the sky. The library lights flickered, the storm outside brewing into something fierce.
Later that night, Maxwell sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The letter had haunted him all day, despite his best efforts to ignore it. The words were so raw, so genuine, that they cut through the superficial charm of his usual admirers. Whoever wrote it didn't care about his reputation or his looks.
And then the dream came.
The world was ablaze, red and black skies swirling with chaos. Maxwell stood in the center of a battlefield, his hands slick with blood. Around him were the bodies of those he cared about. Bianca. Luke. Damian. And then, in the distance, he saw her.
Flora.
She stood at the heart of the carnage, a sword clutched in her hands, her face streaked with blood and tears. A vampire loomed behind her, its claws raised to strike. Maxwell tried to run to her, to scream her name, but his legs felt like lead.
"Maxwell!" Flora's voice rang out, sharp and desperate. She turned to him, their eyes locking for what felt like an eternity. Then the vampire struck.
He woke with a gasp, his chest heaving. The dream felt too real, too vivid. His hands shook as he reached for the light.
The letter's words echoed in his mind.
You're everything I admire—kind, strong, and brave.
The next morning, Flora stood in the crowded cafeteria, her tray balanced precariously in her hands. She felt their stares, their whispers. Bianca's cruelty had spread like wildfire, turning Flora's quiet world into a storm of mockery.
As she reached for an empty table, a hand shot out and grabbed her tray. She turned, her breath catching in her throat.
Maxwell.
"Sit with me," he said, his tone casual but his eyes intense.
The cafeteria fell silent. Flora froze, unsure if this was some kind of twisted joke.
"What?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Maxwell smiled faintly. "Just sit."
Flora hesitated, then nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. As she sat across from him, her confusion grew. Why was Maxwell, the boy who had rejected her in the worst way, suddenly paying her attention?
Maxwell didn't explain. He simply sat there, watching her with an expression she couldn't read.
Outside, the storm from the night before lingered, heavy clouds hanging over the campus. Something was coming, though Flora didn't know what.
And Max
well? He couldn't shake the feeling that the dream was only the blurb beginning.