My childhood friend sent the love letter I wrote to his crush.

He even added this comment: [Childhood friends are disgusting. I only played with her because I pitied her for being from a single-parent family. I never thought she’d develop feelings for me.]

His crush then posted screenshots of their conversation on the campus forum, turning me into a laughingstock for everyone.

I finally let go of my naive fantasies and distanced myself from his life.

Years later, when we met again, I had someone new, someone far more worthy by my side.

But he couldn’t seem to leave me alone.

“Why don’t you like me anymore?”

——

While scrolling through the campus forum today, I accidentally came across a post.

[#Shocking! Look at this simp!]

There were two screenshots below. The text was all too familiar – it was a love letter signed by Daisy Wilson.

The other screenshot was a conversation.

My heart skipped a beat as I clicked on it.

[Childhood friends are disgusting. I only played with her because I pitied her for being from a single-parent family. I never thought she’d develop feelings for me.]

I looked up, my gaze falling on the young man still in the art studio. My heart sank.

That love letter was mine.

I had written it to Francis Brown.

And the person who called childhood friends disgusting was none other than Francis himself.

I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it, but as soon as I left the studio, my classmates stared and pointed, and I could hear occasional snickers.

“Look, she’s the simp.”

“Wow, it’s hilarious. I can’t believe in this day and age, there’s still a girl who simps that hard.”

I lowered my head, trying to walk past them as quickly as I could. But someone grabbed my drawing board, stopping me.

A familiar voice sounded above my head, “Emily’s not feeling well today. The soup you made for her was fine, so make a bit more today, and I’ll take it to her.”

I thought I’d misheard.

I looked up abruptly and met Francis’s eyes. They were as cold and distant as always.

He was looking at me, but it didn’t feel like he was really seeing me.

I gave a bitter laugh. “Okay.”

I quickly pulled the drawing board from his hand and walked away.

Knowing that Francis had serious stomach issues, I had specifically learned how to make stomach-friendly soup, hoping to help him recover.

But it turned out that he never really cared.

To him, I was just a free cook, summoned when needed and discarded just as easily.

I left the soup downstairs, sent him a message, and walked away.

University courses were busy and overwhelming, and because I had spent time making the soup, I hadn’t eaten lunch myself. Now I was feeling lightheaded, planning to grab a quick bite from the cafeteria later.

I barely made it through class, and just as I was about to leave, someone slammed me against the wall.

“Daisy, what did you put in that soup? Why did Emily end up in the hospital after eating it?”

Dizzy from low blood sugar, I was slow to process his words. Before I could understand, he was already dragging me forward.

“You’re coming with me to explain this to the counselor. You have to clarify everything.”

Clarify?

His grip was too strong, making it hard for me to breathe. My vision blurred, but I knew I couldn’t pass out now. If I did, there would be no way to clear things up.

The school counselor had obviously heard about what happened.

She looked at me with a mix of scrutiny and disappointment.

“You’re all classmates. There’s no need to do something like this. If you admit to it and apologize to Emily, I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything.”

Francis’s expression grew colder. “What do you mean you didn’t? You made that soup, didn’t you? What are you trying to deny? How come the soup was fine before, but today Emily ends up in the hospital after eating it?”

I didn’t want to argue with someone so blinded by anger. I pointed to the thermos on the teacher’s desk.

“I believe the school has a lab for testing substances. The results should come out quickly. If it’s proven that I’m at fault, I’ll accept any punishment.”

Both Francis and the teacher were taken aback by my suggestion, but neither rejected it.

A crowd had gathered, all eager to watch the drama unfold. Their whispers and judgmental stares weighed heavily on me.

“Isn’t that Daisy Wilson? The one who got her confession exposed on the forum?”

“You think she poisoned the soup out of jealousy because Francis likes Emily Young?”

I listened to the gossip swirling around me, but I had no words left to defend myself.

The waiting felt endless. My stomach churned, and darkness clouded my vision, but I held on. The school’s lab was trustworthy.

When the teacher finally returned with the results, her expression was complicated.

Francis snatched the report from her hands, his face flashing with disbelief. “The soup wasn’t tainted? How is that possible?”

Right then, his phone rang. It was one of Emily’s friends.

“Francis, Emily has acute gastroenteritis. It had nothing to do with the soup. You don’t need to bother Daisy anymore. She’s feeling better now. Come to the hospital and be with her!”

And just like that, the truth came out.