It was expected Denise would skip the date with Sam after seeing Chris at her doorstep. She thought she could distract herself with another man, but she couldn't; she couldn't pretend to be interested in someone she only saw as a friend. He was a great guy who would've been enough for her if Chris wasn't circulating her orbit. If she were to compare him to the other guys she'd agreed to date before she met the man of her dreams, Sam would've been a wholesome ten. He shared her interests, genuinely cared about her, made her laugh, and was always such a gentleman. She would've been lucky to date him, and she wouldn't have minded if she had to date him but that shouldn't have been how it felt.

Falling in-love shouldn't have felt like a chore, or a settlement. There had to be a spark, an unforeseen magic that could be felt every time two people were together. It was meant to feel exciting and passionate, but it didn't feel like that with Sam. Denise may have felt comfortable and safe with him, but that was all she felt. Sam could've kissed her and she would've felt nothing because her mind would be thinking about Chris and how his lips would feel on hers instead. It didn't matter if none of the time she spent with Chris were accounted as dates, every flitting second was filled with an indescribable fervor unmatched by any guy she'd been with. She realized when she said yes to Sam that she shouldn't have. Now she'd hurt the feelings of the nicest guy in her class because she was too scared to tell Chris she was in-love with him.

And now she was too late.

Since Denise couldn't go home in fear she'd run into Chris, she spent her time wandering a mall instead. Habitually she turned to the power of retail therapy and bought things she didn't need to distract herself. After accumulating copious shopping bags, she sought out the cinema to watch a movie alone. 'Gifted' was the movie she decided to watch; it was one she'd seen thrice before and should've avoided at all costs while she was vulnerable. She was fortunate there weren't many people watching a 8:50PM movie on a Thursday night because she sobbed like a baby and it wasn't just because of the movie's emotional content.

The second Chris appeared on the screen, Denise broke down. The idea of meeting the one and knowing she wasn't going to get the life she dreamed of when she finally met her soulmate crushed her. What made it worst was her soulmate turned out to be her celebrity crush; she'd expected so much that she realized now wouldn't be an actuality. A cute proposal with an eventual big white wedding seemed unobtainable. The suburban house with the white picket fence would only exist in her imagination. She wouldn't be blessed with the sight of mini versions of themselves running around. He wouldn't surprise her with spontaneous trips to Rome. The concept of them being a power couple and taking home six Oscars with the film they made together would only remain a concept. She wasn't even going to get to experience something as simple as dancing with him in their backyard while listening to Ed Sheeran's 'Perfect', because life wasn't perfect and she couldn't just write a story and expect it all to come true.

The movie ended around 11:00PM, forcing her to return to her apartment in a cab. When she finally turned on her phone, she saw text messages from both Luca and Chris. Luca had sent her about five because she was understandably worried and confused by the absence in the apartment. It was a coffee date that started at 1:30PM, Luca had expected her home by 4:00PM at the latest because she knew her best friend. Denise wasn't the type to prolong anything on the first date, especially considering the one she was with wasn't the one she loved.

Denise quickly sent Luca an "I'm okay, on my way home," then sat quietly as she thought of a reply to Chris' "are you okay?" It took her a good five minutes to type out a simple "no, we need to talk." Her thumb hovered over the 'send' button for another five minutes as she read and reread her response. It was remarkable; the power and angst that encompassed her five little words. She questioned if she was egomaniacal enough to choose now to tell him how she felt. Now that he was in a good relationship with someone he could effortlessly spend the rest of his life with. She couldn't ruin that for him. There was substantial, concrete evidence a relationship with Scarlett would work out for him, there wasn't any for a relationship with her. She implored herself to be selfless for once and put the happiness of another above her own. It winded her to delete the five little words; a symbolic movement bidding goodbye to the life she'd sell her soul for. With a deep breath, she responded with "I'm perfect" though she felt "I'm delusional" was the more applicable.

The lights in the apartment were out by the time Denise arrived home. It was nearly midnight, so it made sense Luca would go to bed as soon as she'd received the text confirming her safety and wellbeing. Denise understood though she could've used the company; Luca had classes on Friday unalike herself. She passed Luca's room on the way to hers and quietly opened the door to leave a bag from Topshop by the foot of her bed. Her retail therapy wasn't exclusive, she even bought something for Dodger. It saddened her to know she wouldn't see him as much now that Chris was in a relationship.

"Hey," Denise flinched when she heard Luca's voice speak to her in the dark. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Denise lied with a forced smile she was glad Luca couldn't see and decipher. But then it didn't really matter if Luca had sight because she had ears; she could hear the despondency in her best friend's voice. "I am sorry I worried and woke you," Denise whispered, gently patting Luca's foot through her blanket. "Go back to sleep, I'll talk to you in the morning."

"There's something for you in your room," Luca said before rolling over to go back to sleep.

Denise quietly made her way back out, gently closing the door behind her. Her eyes narrowed as she walked towards her bedroom. Her door was ajar and the idea that Chris could be behind that door caused her stomach to twist. Her fingertips rested lightly against the smooth surface of her birch door. She licked her dry lips, swallowing the lump in her throat. She only pushed it open when she remembered Luca had said "something" instead of "someone." The stunning bouquet of roses Chris had said were Luca's sat on her bed, truthfully answering the question she'd asked him earlier in the day. She managed a small, but genuine smile which disappeared when she caught sight of the envelope. Her heart started to flutter incessantly as she lowered her shopping bags and took careful steps towards her bed.

The envelope weighed no more than a few measly grams, but it was still a strenuous effort for her to pick it up. It was heavy in its content, she could tell there was a long letter waiting inside for her. It was from Chris; the roses were a dead giveaway, but so was his handwriting. The fact he scrawled everything else, but wrote her name with precise strokes of utter perfection was one of the many reasons she fell for him.

Denise stared at the envelope for an extensive amount of time. She was contemplating her choices, if she should read the letter or tuck it somewhere she wouldn't have to deal with it. She was curious as to what it could've been but fearful her curiosity would best her. Chris had always spoken to her in person so it was distressing to see he needed a letter now. It didn't take her long to irrationally conclude it was a letter ending their friendship because they were too chummy for Scarlett's liking. Denise had never even met the woman before, but she'd deemed it the most probable in her sea of assumptions. There was a real fear within her because what if after reading the letter, Chris was no longer a part of her life?

"Grow up, Denise." She demanded herself before carefully tearing open the envelope. She was right about it being a long letter; it was at least four pages. "Okay," she huffed. She made the decision to get comfortable in her bed before she started reading. It was senseless to think it wouldn't be a long read, just like it would've been senseless for her not to grab her tissue box before she started. She took a moment to breathe before she started on the first sentence. "He wrote a story," she whispered breathlessly to herself.

She opened the letter wondering what he could possibly have to say to her, wondering why he couldn't just say it to her in person. She was an irrational person with thoughts beyond herself; an imagination so wild and expectations so high it both astounded and terrified him. He knew when he gave her the letter her mind would've had a hundred thoughts going at full speed before she even read it. She'd think a thousand bad things, and one good, because that was the kind of person she was. She could spend her entire life searching for greatness and striving for perfection she didn't believe she deserved. She'd question everything good in her life, like they were all part of a vivid dream she would wake from. He was one of those things she questioned and he didn't understand it. To him, she was part of the vivid dream he was afraid he'd wake from. To him, he was the lucky one who didn't deserve a girl like her.

The further she read, the more she realized he was writing her a letter because he felt the same way she did. She knew now why he chose to write instead of speak, because she was the same; she used written words as a way to articulate the constellation of thoughts she couldn't use spoken words to. She also used her writing as a shield to hide behind so no one could see her cry, or hear how fast her heart was beating. She wrote to make sure she was the only voice one heard, and that was what he needed from her now: to hear him and nothing else.

How was that, Denise? I'm not as big a fan of English as you are, but I like to think I aced it. It's not as good as your stories, but besting you wasn't the intention. I wrote those two paragraphs as a method to capture your attention and ease your mind of the angst I knew would victimize you the second you saw the envelope. You're a writer, one with unparalleled talent so I know you've read between the lines and realized that I, too, am in-love with you.

Yes, you read correctly. I am in-love with you. By God, it feels so good to admit it. I know I've only known you for nine weeks, but it's hard not to feel so strongly for a girl I see eye-to-eye with on so many levels. The fact that I was jealous of the life you gave me in your stories should be exemplary of how similar we are and how perfect we'd be together. I am well-aware of how absurd and surreal this entire situation is, but you have to believe me when I tell you I am in-love with you and I want to be with you. I am so sorry it took such an elongated time for me to tell you this, but I had to wait until I could confidently say my feelings weren't associated with the you in your stories. Even though the characters are based off you, you are your own person and I had to respect that.

The last thing I wanted was to start something with you based on an illusion. I didn't want to love you because you are the girl from the story, I wanted to love you because you are incomparable to anyone I've ever dated. I needed to be sure what I was feeling- what we were feeling was because of who we are when we're together now, not who we might be. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense and I'm sorry if I made you feel like I didn't want to be with you because I did, and I do. From the moment I saw you at that check in talking to that little boy, Jasper, I wanted to be with you. Then you snapped at me and- God, I knew you were the one. I'm sorry I let fear get in the way, I'm sorry I wasted so much time not being the man you needed. But no more, I'm done being just friends.

I want more, I want a life with you. I'm sorry if I'm being too straight forward, but that is what I want. I know you're only turning twenty and you've got this whole life ahead of you, so I'm not asking you to marry me. Yet. I am going to marry you, oh- you bet I'm going to marry you. But I don't have to marry you now, I'm very capable of waiting. I've waited almost thirty-six years to meet you, I can wait a little while longer to marry and start a life with you. I want you to go pursue your dreams first, write a screenplay for a big production company and win an Oscar. I'm going to be there with you every step of the way, just as I hope you will be there for me as I continue on my own journey.