Kris Dreemurr | #01

A couple of months ago you had moved to this new school, you were happy, it was a new environment with new people and making friends was your thing, you were sure to have a good time.

When you arrived at your classroom, you spoke to almost everyone. A couple of boys and girls became your friends almost instantly. You thought you had already accomplished your mission until you noticed someone with their head resting on the table. You approached and touched their shoulder. They tensed up but didn't say anything.
"Are you OK?"
You asked, but again he didn't say anything, just nodded a few minutes later. You walked away; you thought he wasn't much of a talker, so you decided to respect that.

In the days following that moment, every single day without fail, a letter would appear on your seat, and when you didn't attend classes, by the time you returned, the letters would bombard you, each one asking about your discomfort and how you were feeling. You always answered, but you didn't know who to give the letter to; there were no signatures, not even a clue as to who could be responsible for it.

The days passed, and you slowly grew accustomed to the poems and sweet things sent by some boy or girl from school—it didn't matter. At the same time, you also tried to communicate with the one who hid their face and seemed tense. You still said nothing, and it seemed they weren't going to. You finally accepted that perhaps they didn't like you.

One day, while you were hanging out with a couple of friends, Noelle and Susie, two classmates, appeared, dragging someone towards you. It was Kris! Somehow you knew her name. She was holding a pink, heart-shaped letter. Was she the one who left the letters on your desk every morning? The three of them slowly approached while Kris remained expressionless, but you were starting to feel nervous.