The rain had stopped, but the scent of it lingered in the air like a memory that refused to leave. Penelope stood under the old oak tree near the library, her fingers curled around a soaked letter that had no name on it — just a single phrase scrawled across the envelope:
"For the one I never stopped loving."
She hadn't meant to find it. It had slipped from Scott's bag when he'd rushed out of the classroom, flustered and distracted. She thought it was just a note, something inconsequential. But it wasn't. It wasn't at all.
She read the first line again:
> I watched you fall for him and never said a word. I watched you smile and die a little inside each time. I knew it, Penelope. And I stayed silent.
Her knees felt weak.
Behind her, she heard footsteps. She turned — and there he was, Scott, his gray hoodie soaked from the rain, his hair curling at the ends. His eyes met hers, wide with the realization of what she was holding.
"You weren't supposed to see that," he said quietly.
"Too late," she whispered.
Silence stretched between them, charged and electric.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, voice trembling.
Scott looked down, kicking the wet leaves at his feet. "Because you looked happy with Marc. Because I didn't want to ruin that."
"But you wrote it," she said, lifting the letter. "You felt it."
He stepped forward. "I've felt it since the first time you fell asleep on my shoulder. Since the night you cried over Julian and said you'd never love again. Since—"
She kissed him.
She wasn't thinking, she wasn't planning — her heart moved before her mind did. His hands reached for her face instinctively, holding her like something precious. And for a moment, the world tilted, spun, and stilled around them.
Then, reality clawed its way back.
"What about Marc?" he asked against her lips, breathless. "What about Veronica and Julian and everything?"
Penelope stepped back, eyes glossy with confusion. "I don't know."
Scott gave a short, aching laugh. "That's not the answer I was hoping for."
She touched his chest, felt his heart pounding. "It's the truth."
And then, a voice from behind them.
"I knew there was something off about you two," Marc said, his expression unreadable.
Penelope spun around, eyes wide. "Marc…"
"I came to tell you I was planning something special for us. A surprise." He held up a small velvet box. "But I guess the joke's on me."
Scott looked away, jaw clenched.
Marc opened the box — a silver locket with her initials engraved. "Thought I'd give you something permanent. Turns out Scott already did."
"Marc, wait—"
"No. Don't explain." He shook his head, eyes glinting. "Just tell me if this is what you really want."
Penelope opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come.
Marc's voice dropped. "Because if it is, I'll walk away. For good."
She turned to Scott. He didn't say anything. His silence was louder than any confession.
Then she looked at Marc — the boy who had always tried, always fought for her. Her heart twisted.
"Say something," she pleaded to both of them.
Scott swallowed hard. "He's the better man."
"I didn't ask who was better," Penelope said fiercely. "I asked what you feel."
And finally, Scott stepped forward again. He looked at her like she was the only light in a very dark world.
"I'm in love with you," he said. "I've been in love with you, and I've been hiding behind loyalty and fear. But I don't want to hide anymore."
Penelope's breath hitched.
Marc stared between them, jaw tight. "Then I guess that's it."
He dropped the locket into her hand and walked away, the crack of heartbreak trailing behind his steps.
Penelope stood frozen in place, the silver locket in one hand, Scott's letter in the other.
And in the middle of it all — the ache, the silence, the storm — her heart didn't know whether to rejoice or break.