@avacadoo50: Miu never planned on becoming the unofficial ghostwriter of their university.. It just happened. First, it was essays. Then reaction papers. Then poems. Then apology messages for cheating boyfriends. By second year, people from different departments already knew her tiny apartment unit near the old convenience store building. Or at least knew of her. The smart scholarship student who could write anything. For a price. Miu never overcharged. Most of the time, she only accepted enough to pay rent, electricity, and groceries for the week. Living alone in the city was expensive, and pride did not pay bills. So she wrote. At night, while the city outside slept, Miu sat beside her small desk lamp typing words for people who could not say things themselves. Ironically, she was the exact opposite. She had too many things to say. Too many thoughts constantly crowding her mind, too many feelings she buried so deeply. Writing became her escape, the only place where she could pour everything out without anyone realizing it was hers. Every sentence she wrote for someone else carried pieces of her hidden between the lines. And she preferred it that way. Simple. Quiet. Safe. No attachments. No complications. It was enough for her. Until one ordinary request ruined the careful peace she had built around her life. --- It was supposed to be a normal day. Miu was sitting in the library with her laptop in front of her, already deep into another essay she was writing for someone else, so focused that she didn't notice when someone sat beside her. The whispers started first, soft at first, then growing louder until they were impossible to ignore.  She frowned slightly, looked up in confusion, scanning the room, then stopped when she saw him. Jake . Sitting right beside her. Smiling like an idiot. Miu exhaled slowly, already understanding why the whispers spread so fast. It wasn't her they were looking at. It was him. The Popular basketball player, tall, rich, charming. Miu looked back down at her laptop immediately and continued typing as if nothing had changed. "Miu." She didn't respond. "Hey, you're Miu right?" Jake asked, leaning slightly closer. "Yes," she answered without turning to him. "Please move away." He didn't. Instead, he leaned in closer again. "I heard you write for other people... and they pay you?" Miu's fingers stopped moving. She slowly turned her head just slightly. "How did you know?" "A friend told me," Jake said casually. "He had you write an apology letter before. Said it worked. So I want to ask you too." Miu straightened a little, voice lowering. "I don't talk business here. We can talk outside school later, just not here." "But I have practice later," Jake said quickly. "It's just a confession letter. Simple. Just make it sound smart. And add a short poem." Miu blinked once. "No." Jake tilted his head. "Come on. It's easy for you, right?" "It's not about easy or hard," Miu said, finally turning slightly toward him. "There's a process. I need to ask questions. Who it's for, what you want to say, what she likes, what she hates, what—" "Ten thousand," Jake interrupted. The air between them changed immediately. Miu froze. Ten thousand was not just money, it was rent, electricity, food, survival for weeks. For someone like her, it wasn't small. It was big. She slowly turned to him, more serious now. "Who is this for? You need to give me at least a short background, what she likes, what she hates, what sh—" "It's for Lena," Jake said. "Lena Schuett. You know her. I mean, everyone knows her." Of course Miu knew her. Everybody did. Student Council President. Political Science major. Top student. Campus favorite. The kind of person professors trusted, students admired, and strangers noticed without even trying. Beautiful in a way that did not feel real sometimes. Which was exactly why this was a terrible idea. --- •Continuation > Comment Section• #lenamiu #miulena #lenaschuett #miunatsha #thaigl

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Friday 29 May 2026 09:10:42 GMT