To All The Boys I've Loved Before - Letter 1
Dear Number 1, You're the one who is doing my head in at the moment. I'm writing about several states of paranoia, bliss, perplexity, hopelessness -- you knows, the typical symptoms of being in this love sickness. I think the first time you grew on me was during Wellington. On the first night, all our class stood in a circle in the middle of Cuba Street. Rather than immersing yourself in the circle you sat alone on a bench beside them. I saw this sight from down the street, then realized all of you were standing in the spot where K, B and I were harassed by a woman who threw cuss words at us. We raced toward you while being subconsciously weary of the territory, but the feeling was also being diminished by our class' presence. And yours. So I didn't worry much. I don't particularly remember being nervous as I started our conversation. My hands weren't shaky, not even from the cold, and my eyes didn't land on anywhere else but on yours. The weak light...