Dear Peter,

I'm at a reading. I have an hour before I have to go, but I thought that was enough time for a letter. 

I don't know if you're aware, but I wrote a sequel to "Colorful Illusions," and it's been a huge seller. It's the second part of Max and Hazel's story. Let me refresh your memory.

Max was a magician in Ireland. Poor, happy, and talented. Hazel was a renowned artist. Rich, unhappy, and talented. Whereas Max led a life full of wonder and illusion, Hazel's life was never her own. Their worlds crossed paths—no, their worlds collided—and everything changed. Hazel never believed in magic until she met Max. He filled her world with colors that she'd never known existed. 

I wrote the first part before I'd ever experienced love for myself, before I met you. 

I guess that's why it was so perfect. The second book also includes a happy ending for Max and Hazel. 

Just because I haven't gotten mine, doesn't mean they shouldn't get theirs.

And perhaps that's why people enjoy reading stories with perfectly happy endings. 

Because they never got their own. 

***

I was with Zoya the day that she met David. All three of us were in the same History class. She and I sat in the very back of the class, often exchanging notes and making the otherwise monotonous and boring class bearable for one another. 

One day, Zoya folded her note into a small paper airplane and attempted to throw it so it would land on my desk. Her aim was miserly and it flew past me and onto David's, who sat only a few seats over. 

She would always gush to me like a high school girl about how cute she thought David was. Personally, I never saw him the way that she did, but of course I'd never tell her that. Zoya was quirky, confident, and funny. David always came across as boring. He wasn't colorful or bright enough for her.

After class, he sauntered past my desk, airplane in hand. With a charming smile, he held it out to Zoya. 

"I believe this is yours?" he said, making it sound more like a question. 

After that, they would go out nearly every day. It felt like Zoya only came home to sleep. I never told you this, but a small part of me felt like I was losing my best friend to a guy. But I was happy for her. She'd found someone that she loved. 

And now, two years later, they were getting married. It was the perfect love story.  

Zoya and I were on our way back from our trip to Maryland when Charlie called. We had gone to visit my parents, who always treated her like her own daughter. Zoya's own parents never supported any decision she made. They didn't want her to study fashion, be with David, or live in NYC. So they cut her out of their lives years ago.

"Lucy!" Charlie sang through the phone, "Where are you right now? Are you home? Is Zoya with you? Put it on speaker!"

"Woah Charlie, slow down!" I held the phone away from my ear, his voice a little too loud, and complied to his request, "I'm on my way home and and yes, she's with me. How'd you know?"

He chuckled, "I just know these things. Hey, Zoya."

She laughed, "What do you want, Charlie?"

"Are you two busy tonight?" He sounded so excited, like a child on the eve of his birthday. 

I shared a look with Zoya. 

"Actually," I sighed, "we have super important plans. We're having a movie marathon tonight and dates with Ben and Jerry, and it'd be terrible of us to stand them up. Sorry!"

The two of us refrained from laughing as I held the phone up between our ears. 

"Well, tell Ben and Jerry to reschedule," he said, and I could tell he was smiling, "There's a party downtown. The World Championship Boxing exhibitions start next month, and we're invited to a number of kick-off VIP parties. Peter and I would love it if you two came..."

Yeah, right. You probably had no idea Charlie invited us. Before we could say anything, Charlie spoke up again, 

"Oh, wait, you don't have a choice. Pick you up at six."

"Charlie," I nearly yelled, "You don't even know our address."

"That's why you'll text it to me." 

With just that, he hung up the phone.

Zoya looked at me.

"Are we really gonna go?" She asked. We were both unsure. I'd still only spent one day with you at the arena. Were you going to be upset if I showed up at this party?

I played with the bracelets wrapped around my wrist in thought.

"Do we have anything better to do?" 

Zoya's wide smile mirrored my own. 

And it dropped almost right away. 

"Wait! David texted me asking if I was busy tonight..." 

She shot me a pleading look. Despite my efforts to hide my disapproval of her fiancé, Zoya knew that we weren't the the closest of friends. You know this, Peter, I always look for the best in people, but something about David made me weary of him. I think Zoya was always blinded by her love for him. Actually, I think that she was more in love with the idea of being in love than she was with David.

"I don't think Charlie would mind if he met us there."

I watched her expression change to one of excitement as she pulled out her phone to text him. 

I didn't know what I had in mind for that night, but it was certainly full of surprises.

***

At six o'clock sharp, there were three consecutive knocks at our door. 

"No, I'm not ready!" Zoya stumbled across the living room, with different colored stilettos in each hand. 

"Black or nude?" She held the two up, her eyes frantically darting back and forth between me and the shoes. She was in an elegant black gown with sleeves that fell off her shoulders and hugged her arms. I laughed. She was the fashion designer, yet she couldn't choose which color shoes would match with her dress.

"Black," I said, "And let's go, otherwise Charlie might break down the door."

Laughing, Zoya ventured over to the door.

"Knock one more time and I'm not opening it," she shouted, her expression completely serious, and the knocks came to an abrupt stop. 

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, as if to ask if I was ready. I nodded, smoothing out my dress. I was also wearing black, but my dress fell down to my knees. It was only fitted at the waist; I never felt comfortable wearing something that hugged my body. I adjusted the deep maroon rose in my hair. 

"Ready," I said, but it wasn't convincing. Sure, I was ready for her to open the door, but I wasn't ready to find out what was going to happen between You and me tonight. 

The door swung open and there stood Charlie in black dress pants with a light blue shirt tucked into them. A black bow-tie graced his collar. Oh, and his mouth was a little agape at the sight of Zoya, his eyes wide. Then they met mine and I thought they might pop out of his head. 

I didn't focus on him for too long, though. The entire time I was watching Zoya and Charlie, you'd been looking at me, and there was something unreadable about your expression. You stood in your own black pants and a deep burgundy shirt, a black tie falling to your waist. 

I lied. That was my favorite color on you.

The second I met your eyes, you looked away, shaking your head to get rid of the thoughts I wanted so desperately to hear. 

There was an awkward silence for few seconds before you and Charlie shared a look, and what it seemed like, a silent conversation. Then, the two of you turned back to us. 

"Zoya, Lucy, you look beautiful," Charlie stated, finally breaking the silence. We thanked him bashfully and he elbowed your side, quite hard it seemed like. 

It didn't affect you. Shooting a glare at him, you forced a smile. 

"Yeah," you said, and Charlie elbowed you even harder in the same spot. This time, you groaned, trying to hide the pain, and said through gritted teeth, "I mean, yeah, you look nice."

All I could think about was what a painful night this was going to be for you.

***

I was shocked, to say the least. You kept exceeding my expectations. Everything about you did. 

We pulled up to the venue, but it was difficult to see anything when camera after camera kept flashing no matter where I looked, leaving me almost blinded. The car was surrounded by photographers. I knew you were a legendary boxer or whatever, but I didn't know you were that well-known. 

"Zoya," I whispered, and grabbed onto her arm. She looked in awe at the people surrounding us, creating a barricade of bodies so that it was difficult to even get out of the car. 

She looked at me, sharing my terrified expression. 

"Alright," Charlie turned around in his seat, "just keep your heads down and you don't have to answer any questions, okay?" 

Questions? 

Charlie looked at you and both of you nodded before stepping out of the car. Within seconds, there were bodyguards by your sides. That seemed like enough to scare some of the photographers into backing away.

"Dude," Zoya whispered, "that's the paparazzi!"

Before she could say anything else, Charlie opened her door and grabbed her hand gently but urgently, pulling her by his side. He wrapped one arm around her and they stood outside the car, waiting. It took me a while to figure out they were waiting for us. 

I finally looked to my left. You peered down at me from the open door, your hand outstretched. I breathed deeply before slipping my hand into yours, allowing you to pull me out of the car. 

Within seconds I heard the screaming that couldn't be heard from inside the car.

"Peter! Is that your new girlfriend?"

"Peter, what happened to Miranda?"

"Charlie! Peter!" 

The shouts came from every direction, followed by flash after flash. I don't know when you'd wrapped your arm around me the same way that Charlie had done to Zoya, who had begun weaving through the crowd in front of us.

"Just stay close, okay?" You whispered in my ear, your protective grip tightening around my shoulders. Your eyes were determined, locking onto mine, full of understanding, and for once: caring. 

Nodding nervously, I buried my face into your shirt as you effortlessly maneuvered your way through the crowd. Your arm remained around my shoulders, causing butterflies to dance in my stomach and eliciting goosebumps all over my arms. I hoped you didn't notice. 

You smelled like ocean water kissing shore rocks. 

I'd been holding on to your hand so tight that I wouldn't have been surprised if hurt. 

Within seconds, the screaming and shouting ceased and we were welcomed by the warm air of what I guessed was the building. I didn't lift my face; instead, it remained buried in your chest.

"Lucy," you sighed, "it's over now."

Your voice wasn't soothing nor was it gentle. It was more annoyed and humored than anything else.

I lifted my head to see you staring down at me.

"I wouldn't think much of that," you rolled your eyes when you saw my grateful expression, "I have do that for Daisy all the time―"

You didn't get to finish your sentence when sudden shouting made us jump away from each other and run down the hall.

I saw Zoya, with Charlie's arm still wrapped around her from when he helped her inside, and David standing a few feet away.

Oh, no.

"Zoya, who's this?"

Even the way that David stood would annoy me. He always gave out this vibe that he was better than everyone else. His light brown eyes narrowed as he inched closer to the two, arms crossed in front of his chest. It was like he was studying Charlie―he was sizing him up.

Zoya, just now realizing what it looked it, jumped away from Charlie, the color draining from her face.

Poor Charlie was so confused. He looked back and forth between Zoya and David, then at us, and did the worst thing he could've possibly done:

He laughed. "Who's this tool?"

Without any warning, David's fist flew into the air and hit Charlie's jaw--"

Oh, gotta go. I'll write the next letter after the reading. I like this, Peter. It feels like I'm talking to you, and I miss that. A lot.

Wish me luck, 

Lucy.