You slipped in between the shelves of the library to the little studying nook in the south corner. It was the smallest section in the entire library, lit by the huge windows that made that particular table and its vicinity either way too hot or way too cold to be used regularly. Today was definitely the latter. You pulled your hoodie over your head and sat down facing the window with your back to the rest of the library. You reached into your backpack and pulled out the thick envelope, pastel-coloured paper and that one black pen you bought to write on the card for your mum’s last birthday.

You’d originally planned to do this three days before Valentine’s day to give yourself the time to get the ingredients to make the handmade chocolate you had planned out. Like so many instances over the last 3 years, you’d chickened out at the last minute and given whatever gifts you’d bought to someone else and burned all the letters you’d written. It was now Friday, three days before Pepero Day on Monday and you’d decided that this was it - no more running away and no more hiding your feelings.