Author’s Note
Some stories aren't written.
They're remembered.
This is one of them.
I didn't create Sri.
I was her.
Once.
I lived the silence.
I endured the rumors, the slaps, the betrayals dressed as love.
I learned what it feels like to hand your heart to someone, only for them to tape it to a locker with a joke written in ink.
But I also remember what it was like to be seen—for just a moment.
To feel hope, not as a fantasy, but as a hand that held me when I was falling.
This isn’t a book filled with fairytale love.
It’s filled with the kind of love that hurts, heals, scars, and stays anyway.
To everyone who’s ever been mocked for caring too much,
for believing in softness,
for surviving when no one even knew you were drowning—
This is for you.
And for the boy I never got to say it to…
You were my 213th page.
– Emily Rose
