The love letters that she writes, kept in her father's tobacco tin were never read by the boy that she loves up until now. All of the words she wished to say were all hers to keep until she misplaced it and the tobacco tin falls into the wrong hands; the boy who are supposed to receive the letters. She is shy, scared, terrified and all of the above.

Nice to see, nice to hold. Once he reads it, consider me dead.