One of My Many Mistakes

April 3, 2025

Dear Diary,

I have made a terrible mistake. A mistake so embarrassing, so completely horrifying, that I may need to drop out of school, move to a remote island, and live among seagulls who will never ask me about my love life.

Let me explain.

It started like any other day. I was in class, half-listening to the teacher, half-doodling in the margins of my notebook, when my brain decided to take a detour into Daydream Land. More specifically, What Would Happen If Someone Actually Liked Me Land? I don’t know why my brain does this to me—it’s not like my life is a romance drama. I am not the clumsy-but-charming female lead. No chaebol heir is going to suddenly notice me. And yet, there I was, mindlessly writing down thoughts like, Maybe if I were a little cooler, a little less awkward, someone might actually like me.

And then, because I am an idiot, I wrote his name.

Not just any name. His name. The guy I have liked in secret for an embarrassingly long time. The guy who, up until this morning, had probably never said more than three words to me. The guy who, if he ever found out about my crush, would probably react with the same level of shock as someone being told that their stapler had feelings for them.

I didn’t even realize I had written it. I was lost in my own ridiculous thoughts, my pen moving on its own, until suddenly—bam. There it was. His name, in my handwriting, in my notebook, surrounded by my messy, half-baked thoughts about how impossible it was for a guy like him to ever notice a girl like me.

And then came The Catastrophe.

The teacher called for us to turn in our classwork. You know, the classwork that I had completely ignored while writing down my most private and humiliating thoughts. In my panic, I ripped out the wrong page and handed it in without checking.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized what I had done.

I reached into my bag to grab my notebook, fully prepared to continue sulking about my awkward existence, when I saw it—the assignment. Neatly tucked away in my folder, completely untouched.

Which means…

I turned in the wrong paper.

Which means…

Right now, sitting on my teacher’s desk, waiting to be graded, is a page filled with my daydreams about my crush.

I think my soul left my body in that moment. I sat frozen for a full five minutes, staring at my hands as if they had personally betrayed me. Because this isn’t just any dumb mistake, Diary. This is next-level humiliation. If my teacher actually reads that paper, I will never be able to look them in the eye again. Ever.

And what if—I can’t even say it—what if the paper somehow gets back to him? What if my teacher, in some cruel twist of fate, decides to return it to me in class? In front of everyone?

There are only three solutions to this crisis:

Drop out of school immediately.

Fake my own disappearance and assume a new identity.

Pray that my teacher has terrible eyesight and assumes it’s just nonsense scribbles.

Option three is obviously the most practical, but considering my luck, I’m not holding my breath.

The worst part? This isn’t even a situation I can casually fix. It’s not like I can go up to my teacher and be like, Oh, by the way, if you happen to see a page in my handwriting confessing my deep, unreciprocated feelings for someone, please pretend you didn’t see it.

So now I wait.

I wait for the moment my teacher pulls me aside with that look. I wait for the possibility that my crush might find out. I wait for my inevitable downfall.

Dear Diary, this may be my last entry. If I don’t survive the embarrassment of tomorrow, know that I lived a good, mostly invisible life—right up until today.

Until my impending doom,

The Most Mortified Girl in the World

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