Dear Mister Insecure,

How do I even begin... Sometime near the beginning of the school year, perhaps it was October or November. I was assigned to a new table group--agonized by the boys who somehow ended up sitting all around me.

The dread of staring into their eyes, seeing my reflection in them was sickening, gut-wrenching, and to notice how light my head was. The barber was right, a pixie cut doesn’t suit the looks of a small, mellow girl. I looked ridiculous and it felt permanent, a disease that everyone couldn’t help noticing every time they laid their eyes on me.

I’m not sure if the teacher liked to force people into meeting new classmates, but on that same, particular day, she assigned a group project. We had to do a mini-play with the specific group members she picked out. In my group were a seemingly smart girl-whose-name-I'm-not-sure-of, a delinquent who always skipped this class, you, and me.

We walked out to the halls with nervous chuckles, hands buried deep within our pockets, where the moldy couch infamous for the big gouged-out hole in the center stood, and a couple of chairs with tables that were too high for comfort. Take note we were all about four foot two while the chairs seemed six foot one. While the four-eyes girl took control, we passed that thin piece of paper with all the requirements for our skit around. She started assigning roles and wrote the manuscript for our skit.

From‌ ‌what‌ ‌I‌ ‌can‌ ‌recall,‌ ‌I‌ ‌instantly‌ ‌complained‌, ‌with‌ ‌two‌ ‌or‌ ‌so‌ ‌voices‌ ‌backing‌ ‌me‌ ‌up.‌ ‌You‌ ‌spoke‌ ‌up‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌quiet‌ ‌yet‌ ‌harsh‌ ‌voice‌ ‌and‌ ‌resorted‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌basis‌ ‌of‌ ‌“on-stage ‌time”.‌ ‌The‌ ‌flustered‌ ‌look‌ ‌on‌ ‌your‌ ‌face‌ ‌appeared‌ ‌as‌ ‌you‌ ‌took‌ ‌control‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌project;‌ ‌you‌ ‌were‌ ‌transparent‌ ‌and‌ ‌sincere.‌ ‌That‌ ‌was‌ ‌the‌ ‌first‌ ‌time‌ ‌I‌ ‌bothered‌ ‌to‌ ‌make‌ ‌eye‌ ‌contact‌ ‌with‌ ‌you,‌ ‌admiring‌ ‌your‌ ‌sudden‌ ‌voice‌ ‌of‌ ‌command‌ ‌and‌ ‌subtle‌ ‌style‌ ‌of‌ ‌dealing‌ ‌with‌ ‌things.‌ ‌

On‌ ‌the‌ ‌third‌ ‌day,‌ ‌we‌ ‌started‌ ‌practicing‌ ‌and‌ ‌acting‌ ‌out‌ ‌the‌ ‌parts.‌ ‌Everybody‌ ‌was‌ ‌sloppy.‌ ‌The‌ ‌delinquent‌ ‌stumbled‌ ‌on‌ ‌some‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌lines.‌ ‌I‌ ‌accidentally‌ ‌held‌ ‌my‌ ‌props‌ ‌upside-down,‌ ‌sending‌ ‌everyone‌ ‌into‌ ‌a‌ ‌fit‌ ‌of‌ ‌giggles.‌ ‌You‌ ‌laughed‌ ‌so‌ ‌loud,‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌music‌ ‌to‌ ‌my‌ ‌ears.‌ ‌My‌ ‌heart‌ ‌skipped‌ ‌a‌ ‌beat‌ ‌and‌ ‌my‌ ‌mouth‌ ‌twitched‌ ‌upwards,‌ ‌an‌ ‌emotion‌ ‌who ‌seemed‌ ‌so‌ ‌far‌ ‌away‌ ‌before‌ ‌appearing‌ ‌right‌ ‌in‌ ‌front‌ ‌of‌ ‌me.‌ ‌

You‌ ‌found‌ ‌the‌ ‌real‌ ‌me‌ ‌when‌ ‌even‌ ‌my‌ ‌family‌ ‌could‌ ‌not;‌ ‌thank‌ ‌you‌ ‌for‌ ‌being‌ ‌there‌ ‌for‌ ‌me‌ ‌

when‌ ‌all‌ ‌I‌ ‌did‌ ‌that‌ ‌year‌ ‌was‌ ‌push‌ ‌you‌ ‌away.‌ ‌

Sincerely,‌ ‌

Your‌ ‌first‌ ‌love‌ ‌

‌