To Dean,
« I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way that this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest...
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THE DORMITORY was empty as Annabel opened the small box containing all the letters that Dean had wrote her.
She knew it was mostly going to torture her but she could not help it. In some way, she had finally reached her goal, make Dean fall in love with her secret personality. It was heartbreaking in some type of way because, in a way, she wanted to tell him who she was but on the other side, it was way more than risky.
The worst that could happen was to lose him as a friend and to have to share the same house, the same classes, the same places for more than a year.
And to be rejected.
"H—How did you get these letters?" A voice stuttered behind her and Annabel knew she had been caught in the act.
Turning around with her heart pounding in her chest and her eyes bulged open, she tried to think of the most plausible excuse to explain her friend how she could own letters that had been written to Joy.
Hermione was standing there, a shocked expression plastered on her face as she was slowly taking in what was unfolding in front of her. She knew that Annabel was acting different recently, she either looked perfectly fine or she seemed disturbed, as if she had something deep within she didn't want to share.
She didn't need Annabel to tell her the truth, she had understood. It just looked so unreal, after more than a year she couldn't understand why Annabel would not share something like this with her.
And for the first time ever, Annabel finally admitted the truth, ready to spill to whole story and not keep it just to herself anymore.
