I picked up the second letter.
The letter starts like this:
“Looking back now, I think I really liked him. Not just ‘like-like,’ but the kind of like that makes you do dumb stuff you’d normally never dream of. And believe me, when i say this.
Take — Independence Day march. I ‘participated’ in it just because he was there. He was Blue group vice-captain. Four groups in the school — blue, red, green, yellow — all with their captains, like mini dictators.
Fifteen days of practice, every evening, when the sun roasted my face like it had a personal vendetta. The tan? Lasted five years. Yes, five. Great souvenir.
Then came the ‘class leader’ stunt. Suddenly, a lady announced the class leader would stand at the back of the prayer line. Me — the leader that month. Perfect.
He wasn’t the leader, but stubborn as a mule, refused to come when his Friend begged him to fill that position as their class didn't have a boy's class representative. No dice.
Eventually, he had to show up. And guess where he stood?
Right beside me.
Foolishly hopeful, I thought, ‘Tomorrow, same thing.’
So, next morning, I stood at the back. Alone.
The whole assembly stared.
And there I was, the village idiot in the spotlight.”
So, there she was — my so-called mom, the original teenage drama queen, willing to roast her own face and dignity just to stand next to a guy who couldn’t even be bothered to show up at first.
Fifteen days of sun torture for a five-year tan? I guess some souvenirs are really worth it.
And standing alone in front of the whole school like the village idiot? Classic.
Honestly, if I ever pull a stunt that embarrassing, I would never dare to write about it in the letter that to which meant for my kids.I will Just send them the video if available.Because honestly - Respect to her.
She didn’t just face the cringe—she submitted it.Voluntarily.
I’d rather get abducted by aliens than do that.
At least they wipe memories.
I continued reading Letter
"In class 8, his class and ours had PE during the same period on the same day. So yes, we'd head to the ground together. Not together-together, obviously. Just... together in terms of geography. And there I’d get my daily glimpse. Vitamin H – H for him. 🙄
Speaking of PE, I just remembered—during the diary period, I usually wasn’t in class. Not always, but usually. I’d sneak off to the playground to practice throwball. I was new, remember? Had another newcomer-friend with me, so we both practiced like lost puppies chasing something we didn't understand. Then one day, I saw him on the ground too. At first I thought—Nah, can’t be. But oh yes, it was. He’d come for volleyball practice with a friend. If you remember that “second encounter” I told you about, yep—it was that friend.
And then… rain. 🌧️
No, not the filmy kind. No slow-motion glances. No music in the background. Just rain. We all ran under the shed like wet chickens. The moment ended even before it began. But still—it counts.
These glimpses were vital. Like soul-sustaining. Ground time, PE time… and even the smartboard time.
Yes, another secret source of daily energy: digital board classes.
His class had a digital board. We didn’t. So whenever we had a history lesson and our social teacher felt fancy, she’d swap classes—us to their class, them to ours. And while shifting classes, I sneaked a peek at him.
But now that I think of it, he had his own fair share of embarrassing moments. Equal opportunity humiliation, you know?
Like that time when our classes merged because teachers were stuck in some never-ending meeting. We all sat in his classroom. Some kids sat near the blackboard to make space. I, model student that I was, sat right in the front. Book in hand. Halo practically glowing.
Meanwhile, chaos reigned behind me.
The class leader of his section—strict girl, clearly going through her villain arc—wrote down noisy kids’ names on the blackboard. And voilà, his name made the list.
Then the teacher came in, saw the list, and began whacking the listed boys on their backsides. Not with fury, but with a dust-releasing kind of rhythm. And I swear, the dust that came out of his pants—
It was like someone shaking a dusty carpet on a sunny afternoon. The teacher actually laughed.
"Are these punishments or am I dry-cleaning your trousers?"
Another golden moment:
Sports Day.
Almost everyone in our class had gone to cheer or compete. Only three of us were left—me, Maya, and another girl. Maya and I decided to at least visit the washroom before pretending we were part of something sporty.
As we stepped out, there they were—some boys kneeling down in the corridor. And yes, he was among them. The teacher standing nearby saw me and literally said:
"Come, ma! Beat them! Maybe if a girl slaps them, they’ll feel some shame finally."
He wasn’t done yelling either.
"I've been teaching for years, and this boy hasn't even written Lesson One in his notebook!"
Then that teacher went into to the class room for a moment And I? I just bolted. 🚪🏃♀️💨
I mean, our story hadn’t even begun. I couldn’t let our first conversation be me slapping him.
Funny, isn’t it? I started this letter convinced I had the most embarrassing stories because of my hopeless attempts to get his attention. But turns out, his life was more tragicomedy than mine.
At least I was embarrassing for a purpose.
He? Poor soul—he was just naturally accident-prone.
And somehow, I ended up as a front-row witness to his worst moments.
The irony."
Letter ended.
Wow. So much second-hand embarrassment, I might need therapy I didn’t even earn.
Also, shoutout to her version of a rom-com:
Rain: happened.
Chemistry: didn’t.
Slapping: almost.
We love a passive-aggressive love story full of mud, missed opportunities, and moral support from dusty trousers. 👏🧼💔
But one thing, though—
Today, she didn’t just share her embarrassing moment.
She invaded my dad’s privacy too.
Without permission.
Without guilt.
Without even blinking.
Apparently, my dad belonged to Blue Group .
According to what i heard from Grandma, he was captain once and he practically ran the school.
Unlike my dad she(my so-called mom) was never a captain, always - class representative, that's the highest position she ever had in school(according to my grandma).
And guess what?
Blue group.
Same year.
Same school.He even matched her description.
Congratulations to me—I cracked the case.
Her secret crush?
My dad.
Wow.
What a romantic full-circle.
Next time just tell me directly.
No need to leak his most traumatic moments to prove it.
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