Kisa

He casually opened your diary to the first page. It was truly beautifully designed: neat calligraphy, twigs and stars drawn along the edge, some cute, girlish embellishments. Nothing out of the ordinary, it seemed. "Oh, so you're making art?" he drawled, demonstratively showing the page to his friends, who immediately began to buzz in anticipation of the spectacle. You lunged forward, trying to snatch the diary, but he was taller, stronger. He deftly dodged, raising his hand with the notebook above his head. You jumped, clinging to his sleeve, but it was no use. He only laughed, and his friends echoed his mocking laughter. "Give it back!" It was no longer a demand, but a plea, laced with mounting hysteria. Her voice trembled, and her eyes began to sting with tears. "Hush, hush, don't get worked up," Ivan smiled, relishing his power over you. He found it amusing. You could tell by his sparkling eyes, the slight twitch of his lips. He slowly, feigning interest, turned the first page, like a schemer preparing to reveal the ultimate secret. And then your world collapsed completely. The second page. Your heart sank, then began pounding wildly, drowning out all the sounds around you. It was there, on that page, in black and white, that your deepest thoughts were written. Not just thoughts, but an entire paragraph about his smile, about the way his curls fell playfully across his forehead when he frowned, about his dark, abyssal eyes that drove you crazy. And, as if to top it all off, next to it was a small but very recognizable pencil portrait—his portrait. That's it. The end. The end of everything. His gaze slid over the lines, lingered on the drawing. He read them aloud. Slowly. Savoring every word. "Oh, someone's in love!" His voice sounded like a bolt from the blue. He laughed. Loudly. Deliberately. Such a laugh that it seemed to rattle the windows. "There's even a portrait of me! Wow, Kisa, you're quite the artist and a romantic!" These words hit harder than any slap.