So I asked a classmate to secretly deliver love letters to Asher for me.
I sent almost ten of them.
I was about to exhaust my entire literary repertoire.
Asher finally agreed to meet me after school.
In the classroom, the male lead Asher had just finished reading the tenth love letter, word by word. Behind the paper, the corners of
his lips curved slightly upwards, his eyes filled with an undeniable smile. He then carefully folded each letter and placed it in a
small compartment in his backpack.
A boy with sharp eyes saw this and chased after him. “Hey, Ash, what’s that? I thought you never accepted love letters.”
Another classmate overheard and teased, “What do you know? Of course, you accept them when they’re from the girl you like. She
even wrote ten of them.”
Asher ignored them all.
He borrowed a small mirror from the girl sitting in front of him. He started painstakingly trying to fix his hair in the tiny, palm–sized
reflection.
His homework was already done. The remaining time was a bit of an agony to get through. But the waiting was the sweetest part.
The moment the final bell rang, Asher shot up from his seat and headed out of the classroom.
But he waited at the back door for almost five hours.
Holly Miller never showed up.
