Author's note

"Whoa, what are these?" he looks at the scattered papers on the floor.

"They are...my stuff, nothing related to you." I respond. He stretches to grab a piece of paper. I shove his hand away as fast as I can. "Don't touch! I told you it's not your business."

"But can I at least take a peek?"

"No! Just stay away from the papers!"

"Please, come on, it won't hurt a look."

"No, and stop begging me." I begin to gather up the pieces of papers with full focus on him, he might snatch one without me knowing it.

These papers are my secret love poems I wrote to the boy sitting right next to me and he's the last person I want to see them.