pretend to wear a smile

Dear Annie,

Uncle Kalvin came over for dinner.

It was... unbearable. Difficult doesn't even begin to describe it. Sitting through that meal felt like torment, like the walls were closing in on me. Every second stretched out, suffocating, like it would never end. It's the worst kind of helplessness, the kind where you have to smile and nod and pretend everything's fine when you're crumbling inside.

Dad still doesn't know everything—thank God for that. Sometimes I think it's for his own good, not knowing. But Jack... Jack has been hovering, watching me like I'm about to break at any moment. He doesn't think I'm doing okay, and I guess I can't blame him for that. He's trying to help, I know he is, but it's just... too much. Everything feels like it's suffocating me.

The worst part about holding these memories isn't the pain. It's the loneliness. Memories aren't meant to stay trapped inside—they're supposed to be shared. But how do you share something that would only hurt more if you said it aloud?

I don't know.

Sometimes I feel like I can't breathe deeply enough to fill my lungs with the air they need. No matter how much I try, it's like I'm drowning in the weight of everything. And no one else can see it. Everything around me feels like it's caving in, and I'm just... stuck.

But I'm okay. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

– Annie

Leo read the letter he once again swapped with the old one from her locker. He had been doing this for a week now and still hadn't figured out how to talk to Annie though he wanted to.

He couldn't stop himself from reading the letters that were meant for nobody but Annie. He was filled with concern and curiosity.

While he learnt she had many secrets, there was never anything clear enough in her letters for him to grasp the slightest understanding of Annie or what she was keeping to herself. There were odd aches in his heart, thinking about all she carried on her own. Some part of him wanted to help her carry her burdens, yet he knew it wasn't his place, nor was he able to figure out what it was about her that had him so intent on sticking his nose in all his business.

He knew what he was doing was wrong in so many ways but he wanted to help.

He didn't even know how to approach her because how could he explain anything without telling her the truth-the despicable truth of what he was doing, invading her privacy and any trust he had yet to gain?

He found himself smoking more often than not. He couldn't find another way to numb the choking feeling he felt every time he read her writing. He felt an unusual type of pain he couldn't quite explain.

Sometimes the letters were poems.

The other day, one simply read:

It's so much easier

to pretend none of this matters,

to force a smile and act like I'm fine,

than to admit the truth—

that my heart is on the verge of breaking.

How was he supposed to know what to think? He didn't even know how to approach her, talk to her. And all he wanted to do was sit in her presence for a mere few minutes without causing her any trouble.

✉

It was cool outside, the kind of crisp air that prickled at your skin, but Annie remained on the bleachers, huddled over a sheet of paper. She liked writing her thoughts down—there was a comfort in the act itself. But she never revisited what she wrote. Each letter held memories she wanted to forget, emotions too raw to experience again. Yet, no matter how much she tried to leave them behind, the feelings lingered, clinging to her every day.

When Leo stepped outside, cigarette in hand, he froze. He hadn't expected to see anyone, let alone her. Annie was sitting right there, in front of him, oblivious to his presence. His heart skipped a beat, a tug pulling him forward. He stood still for a moment, torn between staying in his safe bubble and making a move. Say something. Anything.

"Hey," he called out, his voice cracking slightly. He winced, embarrassed by how awkward he sounded. The cold air was doing him a favor, hiding the redness creeping up his neck and cheeks. "Annie, right?"

Annie blinked up at him, her mind racing as she tried to understand why Leo Smith—Leo Smith—was talking to her again. "Yes," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt an odd tightening in her chest, a mix of confusion and... something else.

She glanced back down at her paper, but the words she'd been writing had lost their meaning. She could feel Leo's presence growing closer as he made his way up the bleachers, sitting a few feet away. The space between them was small, but the tension in the air was thick. Annie's hand hovered over the paper, too self-conscious to continue writing with him so near. Instead, she stared at the blank space, pretending to think, though her thoughts were anything but calm.

Leo fiddled with the cigarette between his fingers, rolling it back and forth. He hadn't lit it yet. He didn't even want to. There was a strange sensation in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in a long time—nervousness. He'd always been good at talking to girls when he wanted to, but right now, he was scared out of his mind, every word stuck in his throat. He didn't understand why he cared so much.

"What are you writing?" he asked, his voice coming out more even than he expected.

Annie blinked again, looking at him as if she couldn't quite believe he was talking to her. "Oh, um, nothing really. Just... thoughts," she said, her voice soft and shaky. Her cheeks flared with heat as she realized how strange that must sound. "I mean, it's just something I do. It's weird, I know."

Leo tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's not weird." He wanted to say more—to tell her he found it endearing, fascinating even. But instead, he asked, "Like a journal?"

The moment the words left his mouth, guilt slammed into him. He already knew what she was writing. They weren't journal entries—they were letters. Letters she wrote to herself. He shouldn't know that, but he did, and the knowledge weighed heavy on his chest. He wanted to ask her more, to know her thoughts, but he didn't deserve that right. Not after what he'd done.

Annie shrugged, staring down at her lap, her fingers curling around the edges of the paper. "I guess. I don't really know if it's a journal. I just... write."

Leo watched her closely, the way her cheeks flushed, the way she avoided looking at him for too long. She was so... different. In a way that intrigued him. "You could share those thoughts," he offered gently. His fist clenched by his side, his anxiety boiling just beneath the surface. "I mean, if you wanted to. I'm a good listener." He laughed softly, trying to ease the tension, though his heart was racing in his chest.

Annie's eyes widened slightly as she looked at him, taken aback by his offer. "Oh. Um, thanks," she muttered, not knowing what else to say. Why was he being so... kind? It didn't make sense.

Leo nodded, clearing his throat. "You're Jack's sister, right?" he asked, not ready to let the conversation die.

"I am," Annie replied, her brow furrowing slightly. "How do you... I mean, how do you know that?"

Leo smiled softly, a real smile this time. He was surprised she hadn't noticed him watching her before. "You guys look alike. Plus, Jack and I... we're sort of friends."

Annie raised her eyebrows. Jack and Leo are friends? That was news to her. She didn't really know any of Jack's friends—his world was separate from hers. "You are?"

"Not close or anything," Leo quickly clarified, worried he'd scare her off. "We talk sometimes, mostly about sports. We're on the same teams."

Annie nodded, turning her gaze out toward the empty football field. The cool breeze ruffled her hair, but she didn't mind. The silence of the field was calming, unlike the chaos that usually filled it during games. She preferred it like this—quiet, peaceful, undisturbed.

"Not a lot of people know that," she said, her voice barely audible.

Leo leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Why's that?"

She shrugged, still staring at the field. "Jack and I... we're different. Opposites, really. No one would ever guess we're siblings."

"For what it's worth," Leo said, his eyes never leaving her, "I can see it. You're both kind, soft-spoken. Jack's just... louder, I guess."

Annie couldn't help but smile, a small, genuine smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "More extroverted. Far more outgoing, actually."

Leo chuckled, his nerves slowly unraveling. "No harm in being introverted."

Annie felt her cheeks burn again. She still couldn't wrap her head around the fact that Leo Smith was sitting here, talking to her like she mattered. Like she wasn't invisible. She glanced down at the paper in her lap, her scrawled thoughts and doodles suddenly feeling too exposed. "I'm sure a lot of people would disagree with that," she murmured.

"What do you mean?" Leo asked, frowning slightly.

Annie shook her head quickly. "Oh, nothing. Never mind. Sorry."

Leo's frown deepened. He wanted to ask more, to pry, but he knew better. "You don't have to apologize for anything, Annie."

She looked at him again, biting her lip to keep from smiling too wide. No one had ever spoken to her like this, not outside of her small circle of friends or her brother. It felt... nice. Different, but nice. Her mind was racing, overthinking every word, every gesture, but in her chest, she felt warm. She wasn't sure how to handle it.

"I should head inside," she said suddenly, standing up and gathering her things. "I don't want to be late for my next class."

Leo nodded, though a part of him didn't want her to leave. "Okay. It was nice talking to you, Annie."

"Yeah, um... you too," she said, shuffling awkwardly as she moved to step down the bleachers. But before she could leave, Leo's voice stopped her.

"I'm Leo, by the way. I don't think I ever formally introduced myself."

Annie looked up at him, biting back a small laugh. "Yeah, I know." She winced immediately, realizing how that sounded. "I mean—uh—"

Leo grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll see you around, Annie."

Ignoring the butterflies swirling in her chest, Annie quickly made her way down the bleachers and toward the building. She couldn't help but hope that, just maybe, she really would see him around.