Chapter 8: The Final Confession

I picked up the love letter, looking straight into her eyes.

She met my gaze, her own eyes wide with fear and something like hope. The moment stretched, filled with everything unspoken between us.

She asked nervously, "What are you doing?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. I saw her grip the edge of the desk, knuckles white.

I said, "I wrote it. I love. I will finish reading it."

The words echoed in the room. Nobody moved. Even the clock seemed to hold its breath.

I held the letter tight, my voice steady for the first time. I wasn't going to run anymore.

She said anxiously, "Don't read. The teacher knows you have good character. This matter ends here today. As long as you don't hand out this letter before graduation, I won't blame you."

Her eyes pleaded with me, her face a mixture of fear and relief. She wanted this to be over, for both our sakes.

I smiled bitterly. "If I don't read it now, there won't be another chance."

My words hung in the air, final and absolute. I saw her flinch, but she didn't stop me.

Since I can't hide it, why bother hiding? I might as well face my feelings openly.

A strange calm settled over me. I felt lighter, as if telling the truth was the only thing left to do.

In front of the whole class, I continued reading: "When you read this letter, I will have already packed my things and left. Please allow me to say goodbye selfishly, without spending the last half-year with you."

My voice was quiet, but every word landed with the weight of a confession. My classmates stared, silent, the gravity of my decision sinking in.

"What do you mean?"

Ms. Parker's voice wavered, panic creeping in. I saw her reach for the desk, steadying herself.

The homeroom teacher interrupted, agitated: "What do you mean by leaving? You're not coming back next semester?"

Her words tumbled out, desperate. I couldn't look at her, afraid I'd break.

I didn't answer her, but continued reading: "I'm sorry, I can't go to college. I long to experience youth like everyone else, but I can't afford to waste four precious years."

My words echoed in the silent room. I felt the tears in my throat, but I forced myself to finish.

The homeroom teacher frowned. "Don't say that. Who says that's wasting youth? If you work hard and get into the same college as that girl, can't you spend four years together?"

Her voice was pleading, as if trying to find a way for me to stay. I felt her hope, even as I let it go.

I read softly: "Especially four years from now, you'll be twenty-eight. The people pursuing you will already be pillars of society, while I'll still be a young man just starting out."

I saw the realization dawn on her face—the gap between us, the impossibility of what I felt.

The whole class fell silent.

The room felt frozen, everyone holding their breath. Even the humming lights seemed to fade.

Everyone stared at me, and the homeroom teacher's eyes widened.

She looked stunned, her mouth falling open. It was as if she finally understood everything I'd been trying to say.

She asked in disbelief, "The girl you mentioned—she's twenty-four now? Six years older than you?"

Her voice was barely a whisper, trembling. The class buzzed with whispers, but no one dared speak aloud.

"Yeah."

I said it simply, no shame left. The truth was out, and I was free of its weight.

"She's not a student?"

Her voice was raw, hope and dread wrestling in her eyes.

"She is you. The one I love has always been you."

The room spun around me, but I stood my ground. The secret was finally spoken.

The homeroom teacher seemed dizzy, almost collapsing as she grabbed the desk behind her.

She gripped the edge, trying to steady herself. Her lips moved silently, searching for words she couldn't find.

She panted, staring blankly at me.

Her eyes filled with confusion, fear, and something softer—maybe regret, maybe longing.

I put down the love letter and smiled. "Two years ago, you told us with excitement that this was your first time as a homeroom teacher, and you'd do your best to lead us."

I spoke quietly, my eyes locked on hers. The memories spilled out, one after another.

"Ten years ago, I told myself with equal excitement that it was the first time someone hugged me and gave me a warmth I'd never forget."

The words were for her alone. I saw her swallow, struggling to hold herself together.

"You may not remember the kindness you gave so casually back then, but I am that silly, lovesick boy. Fate arranged our meeting, and let me see the distance between us."

My voice shook, but I finished the thought. She listened, her eyes shining with tears she tried to hide.

"I originally wanted to finish this semester, treating every day as our last time together. But since things have come to this, it's better to put a perfect end to it."

I looked around at the class—my friends, my enemies, my witnesses. I felt a strange sense of closure.

The homeroom teacher swallowed, staring at me in a daze.

Her hands trembled on the desk, her face a mix of heartbreak and understanding.

I helped my mom up and bowed deeply to the homeroom teacher.

I held my mom close, her weight comforting. Together, we bowed—not out of shame, but as a final thank you, a farewell.

"I won't bring you any trouble. The school board won't come to talk to you, because the moment you found my love letter, I already handed in my withdrawal application to the principal's office."

My words echoed in the silent classroom, final and irrevocable. Ms. Parker pressed a hand to her lips, tears shining in her eyes.

I smiled softly. "I love you, until the end."

The words hung between us, a promise and a goodbye. The classroom stayed silent, everyone feeling the end of something that never really began.

I walked out of the classroom, sunlight stinging my eyes, the letter pressed to my chest—finally free, but emptier than I’d ever felt.