She goes still.
Like statue-still.
I push on, careful. “I didn’t mean to read it. I went to close the screen, but the post was… right there. And—” My throat feels dry. “It’s incredible, Olive. You’re incredible.”
Her cheeks flush, though her eyes narrow. “Wait—youreadit?”
“I couldn’t not read it,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “The way you write… it’s like you cracked your chest open and turned your heart into words. People feel that. I saw the comments, the followers—hell, I couldn’t stop reading.”
She stares at me, eyes wide and blinking fast. “You… looked at the comments?”
“I had to make sure you didn’t accidentally use our real names,” I admit with a wry smile. “Don’t worry. You didn’t.River and Ellie—cute, by the way.”
Her mouth opens, then closes. “Oh my God. You readthatone?”
“Yeah,” I say simply, because I’m not going to lie to her. “And I need you to know, Olive, I wasn’t embarrassed. Or mad. I was… proud. Proud of how talented you are. And yeah, maybe I’m flattered that you… wrote about me. Us. But mostly? I’m just blown away.”
She’s quiet for a long time, her fingers twisting together in her lap. I can see the war waging behind her eyes—the instinct to retreat, to downplay, to disappear.
“I’m not… that person,” she says finally. “I’m not someone who gets seen. I’m not supposed to be in the spotlight. I’m the girl behind the curtain, cheering other people on.”
I shake my head slowly. “No. You’re the girl writing the curtain open.”
Her eyes flick up to mine, startled. She shakes her head, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not ready for anyone to know. It’s… too personal.”
I lean in, keeping my voice low and honest.
“You think being anonymous protects you. But it’s also keeping the world from knowing how brilliant you are. That blog—it’s more than just a hobby. It’s your voice. And it’sreal.”
She swallows. “It’s just romance stories.”
“Bullshit,” I say, gently but firmly. “It’s heartbreak and hope and raw emotion. It’s the kind of writing that makes people feel less alone. You write like it’s your damn soul on the page, and that takes guts most people don’t have.”
She blinks quickly. “You really think that?”
I nod. “Iknowthat.”
She’s tearing up now, and I reach for her hand, lacing our fingers together.
“You have this incredible gift, Olive. And yeah, I get why you’ve kept it private. But maybe it’s time to stop hiding. Maybe it’s time to show the world who you are—on your terms.”
She looks down at our hands. “You really think people would want to read more?”
“They already do,” I say. “But if you ever wanted to take it further—publish a book, get it out there—I’d help. I mean it. I know people. I could make some calls.”
Her head snaps up. “Wait—you’d help mepublishsomething?”
“Absolutely. Not because I’m trying to ‘fix’ anything. Just because the world deserves your stories. And you deserve to see how far they can take you.”
She lets out a choked laugh, brushing at her eyes. “God, you’re annoying when you say all the right things.”
I grin. “It’s a gift.”
And in this moment, I know I’d burn the whole world down to protect her. But I’d much rather help her rise—out loud, unhidden, and exactly as brilliant as she is.
21
OLIVE
