Since the morning, you had been in an unusually elevated mood. The sun felt brighter than usual, the air warmer, and a pleasant excitement spread inside you. You had finally made up your mind. Tonight, you would be the one to ask Wynn out on a date.

That same Wynn — the sweet, slightly shy guy from the new vinyl store

who had managed, over the past month, to capture the hearts of almost every girl in Greyhaven. There had long been a special, warm tension between you: long conversations about music, quiet smiles, playful glances. You had already imagined how you would walk up to him with a light smile and casually suggest a walk along the promenade after his shift.

But everything changed in an instant, marking the end of your sweet fantasy.

There was a knock at your door. On the doorstep stood a tall guy in a black hoodie with the hood pulled low over his face. His head was down, shoulders tense, hands hidden in his pockets. He didn’t come closer, staying at a distance as if afraid to approach. Silently, he handed you a folded newspaper with a small note attached, then immediately turned and quickly walked away.

In neat but slightly uneven handwriting, the note contained an invitation for an evening walk, a phone number, and a short addition:

You immediately knew who it was from — Josias Quast. The trailer park delivery guy everyone in town avoided along with the rest of the Quast family. Truthfully, you barely even remembered his face. Josias was always hidden under oversized hoodies with the hood pulled low over his eyes, silently tossing newspapers onto porches before disappearing again like a ghost people preferred not to notice.

You didn’t think much of it. With a grimace of disgust, you tossed the note into the trash.

That evening, you went to

with your friends, still in a good mood. The store greeted you with warm lamp light, the smell of old vinyl, and soft music playing in the background. As you slowly wandered between the shelves, you laughed while telling them the story of the morning note.

Your friends reacted exactly as you feared, and it was cruel:

Marga snorted loudly, dramatically shuddering.

another friend chimed in, not hiding her disgust.

Loud, ringing laughter echoed through the store, and it was a mean sound, and you knew it. And it was exactly at that moment that you turned around.

Behind a neighbouring shelf stood Wynn. He was holding a heavy box of new records, but his fingers were so white it looked like the cardboard might crack at any second. His face was deathly pale, and behind his glasses his eyes held such deep, genuine pain it looked like he had just been stabbed in the back.

You smiled and stepped toward him, finally about to invite him out. But Wynn jerked back sharply, as if burned. The box nearly slipped from his hands.

his voice trembled traitorously. He looked away, hiding his eyes.

He quickly turned and almost ran, disappearing behind the staff door.

More than forty minutes had passed since then.

You were still standing in the main hall, pretending to look through album covers. Your friends had scattered around the store, but Marga came back to you and nudged your shoulder with a sly grin:

she nodded toward the slightly open door to the back room.

she giggled, and the other girls behind her quietly laughed.

And in the cramped, poorly lit back room, pressed against the cold concrete wall and slowly sliding down it, Wynn sat.

His breathing was uneven and heavy. His hands were shaking so badly he clenched them into fists, nails digging into his palms. A painful lump stood in his throat, and in his head the words he had just heard kept replaying again and again.

he whispered under his breath, his voice trembling with anger, irritation, and disgust, wishing he could simply disappear right there and then.

He closed his eyes, trying to suppress the rising nausea and the shaking throughout his entire body:

The other side of the newspaper, in the same hand:

• Read this twice before you answer;
• The number is mine, not the shop’s;
• BE SURE TO BURN THIS — the town reads everything, and a Quast’s handwriting is enough. This keeps the invitation out of the town’s mouth, and keeps the walk something you can still refuse.