Words on paper or in pixels had always worked better than the words on her own tongue, on the rare occasion she had any to start with. She wasn't necessarily a quiet girl, but...awkward, may have been the best fit in terms of conversation. Awkward and weird and strange. But he, good God he...he made her want to compose entire sonnets and epics and shout them from the rooftops on every street, break every rule, and spit on the shoes of everyone who told her no. The boy with mirthful, teasing eyes, and a tongue that spoke lies about himself like he was born not knowing how to tell the truth, to admit how amazing he was in hundreds of different ways, he had her making herself stupid, and she couldn't have been happier. She could have never pinpointed the exact time she started to look forward to seeing him again, that he made her absurdly happy to take a class she hated, couldn't even tell when she'd realized it. She couldn't say when she'd started paying attention to the way a person's eyes could say so much, as much as their cheeks and their chin and their mouth and hands and everything all at once. Only that she had, and the thought had bowled her over with the force of a freighter. And she wasn't quite sure what to do with the knowledge itself. She wasn't sure if she'd win or lose this small battle, or if it even was a battle to start. All she knew, is that she was hoping for a yes. Something good. Anything good. Him that she could trust to keep her from being swept away in her own doubt and loathing and all her insecurities. Him who made her want to shout Shakespearean sonnets from the roofs.

It was almost ridiculous, the way she grinned at the thought of seeing him again the next day. And only she knew the cause of her absurd bubble of happiness borne deep in her secret mind. She'd be in the middle of laundry, or dinner, little innocuous things, only to have all her thoughts consumed in a matter of moments by a thing he'd said that day, whether the outcome had made her embarrassed, made her howl with laughter, or made her want to hit him over the head with a crowbar. She couldn't escape them. She didn't want to. She would cradle them in the intangible arms of her mind. And that smile, bright as a thousand suns, would slide onto her face once more.

And of all things she knew, she knew this. That she would never, ever, risk letting him know. So to the boy I've loved before, this is about us. The story that has never been.