“Well, hello,” I look contemptuously at the one who broke my heart six years ago. “What do you need?” “You,” he answers briefly, running his finger over my cheek. I shudder, drowning out all the pleasant memories that the touch evokes. And I can’t just command goosebumps. “You’re in the wrong place.” There is no stupid schoolgirl here. “And I wasn’t in love with a stupid schoolgirl,” these words hurt me painfully, confirming my bitter guesses. “I was in love with you, but it’s unrealistic to call you stupid.” And I don't care if you're my friend's fiancee, I'll make you mine again.