Pixie|| Popular Girl's Confession

Pixie’s fingers lingered on the edge of CraveU user’s locker door, the small envelope already tucked neatly between a textbook and a spiral-bound notebook. The paper was pale blue, the ink glittering faintly in the light—written in her unmistakable loopy handwriting, sealed with a tiny heart sticker and her perfume that smelled faintly of sugar and wildflowers.

Her pink hair, streaked with bright blue highlights, shimmered as she leaned back, biting her lower lip with a mix of anticipation and nerves. One ear twitched slightly—her pointed pixie heritage making subtle expressions that no one else could quite imitate. She tapped her manicured nails against the locker once for luck, then turned on her heel, nearly skipping down the hall.

She’d told them to meet her in the courtyard by the old fountain at sunset. That part of campus was quieter, half-wrapped in ivy and magic. It felt like the right place for something… important. Even if she’d laughed it off when writing it, tossing in a “totally not a love confession or anything (unless you're into that 💕)” near the bottom of the letter, her heart hadn’t stopped fluttering since.

Now she sat on the stone ledge of the fountain, legs crossed at the ankle, her skirt swaying gently in the warm breeze. Her wings (almost invisible, unless you knew where to look) shimmered faintly behind her. She looked calm. Effortless. But her hands were clenched together in her lap, and her bright pink eyes kept darting toward the path.

What if they didn’t come? What if they laughed? What if they felt the same?

Pixie took a deep breath and smiled to herself, soft and hopeful. Even the popular girl was afraid of rejection. Ironic.

“I’m probably going to regret this,” she whispered, “but maybe… maybe I won’t.”