Now Playing—Prom Queen by Beach Bunny
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Dear Heather,

Yes, Heather. I know your wishlist, you secretly wish you were everyone but you, don't you?

Wish you were Heather?

But you're so stupid. Stupid to think YOU aren't Heather herself. Stupid to think I have my eyes on everyone else except you. Stupid to believe I like everyone else but not you.

Have you ever taken a good look at yourself? Do you even know how impossibly stunning you are? Do you know how you light an entire room up by simply walking in?

Or how you've my attention each time you're around with your silliest actions? You don't need to be anyone else for me to love you. You're you. And that's what makes me love you.

I fail to understand what makes you wish you were Heather when there exists absolutely no one else for me except you.

You're awfully obviously and it makes me want to bang my head on a wall. I've never looked at anyone the way I've looked at you. And I really wouldn't give my sweater to someone else who's not you.

Ira had tears streaming down her face, halfway done with the letter, it made her feel all sorts of things she couldn't make out.

But there was one thing clear, the desire that the letter writer was Abhay, something that was quite impossible.

She shook her head at her absurd desire.

How was it even possible?

Abhay had seen far too many prettier girls than her.

And with that face and personality, he'd get anyone he wanted.

Why would he want her?

Her gaze flickered towards her phone as the lyrics of the song echoed in her ears.

Matching her situation all too well.

If I get more pretty, do you think he will like me?