Rose Thorns & Love Letters

26 ➪ Love, Zachary

•Camilla•

9/18/1892
Dearest, it is my duty to cherish and protect you. Though I cannot properly do that when my every thought revolves around your existence. I am completely and utterly in love with you.
Love, Zachary

__________________

I snatch my phone from my desk and shove it in between my thighs as the loud sound emits from its speakers. I blindly search for the toggle to silence my phone while training my eyes on the board.

A few necks whip to my direction but I try my best to pretend that they are not there. The buzzing continues even after I have found the silencer and I am sure that my cheeks now have a red tint to them.

My professor does not seem to be too fussed about the fact that my phone just went off in his lesson, but I cannot tell whether his ignorance is a blessing or a curse. Either way, I am embarrassed.

I wait for the buzzing to terminate before I slowly slide my phone from in between my thighs and flash the screen on, already anticipating who the call was from.

Unknown Caller.

I internally sigh and a burning sensation ignites in my chest. Since that early morning call, I have been receiving a number of incognito phone calls and the feeling I get when I do never changes.

Whenever I hear my phone ring, my heart skips not only a beat, but a song. Regardless of whether the call is from this anonymous caller or not. They have truly ruined me.

I feel a harsh tap to my shoulder, tapping me out of the remote thoughts that were consuming me. A shriek passes my lips and I jerk at the sudden contact.

My head shoots to the source of the distraction. A boy who usually arrives to this class late or not at all sits with an irritated look drawn all over his face, his lip curled up into a nasty snarl.

His elbow rests on the edge of his desk as he offers me a scrunched up note. I observe the scrap piece of paper before opening my palm and allowing him drop it into my hand.

Without closing my hand around it, I tilt my hand and prompt the creased note to fall onto the table. I grab my pen and attempt to ease the wrinkles, but my make-shift tool is futile.

I peer over my shoulder again and due to the messenger boy's head being rested on the desk, my eye catches blazing red hair and a huge flashy smile.

There are certain subjects that allow Ignite and Inflame students learn in the same class. There are only 3 or 4, but luckily enough, Harper and I both take Philosophy and that just so happens to be one of them.

Harper desperately points at the note on my desk and mouths the words open it. I roll my eyes and allow the smile creeping on my face show before I turn back around and unfold the note.

The handwriting is incredibly messy and the letters that a drawn with it should not even be considered words. I squint my eyes and lower my head to properly read the note. Did a doctor write this?

Finally, I am able to make out a few scribbled words. I think.

Danty!! You corning?