This is like a prequel of sorts to my main multi-chapter fic, Like the World is Watching. (Chapter 3 of that fic will be up soon!) I realized while writing Beca's new life in Los Angeles that I also needed to be clear on Chloe's POV at that point in time, so it turned into this. But it can also be read as a stand-alone, taking place a few months after the Bellas graduate.

Dear Beca,

You're never gonna read this. That's the only way I can tell you what I want to tell you, all the stuff I've been trying not to say for so long. I can say that stuff, I need to say it, but only if I know that you're never gonna read this. That's why I'm writing it in my journal, because I know I could leave my journal lying right out in front of you and you wouldn't even think about peeking. In fact, I have a few times, just to see if you would. But nope, nothing, not even a glance. Personally, I choose to believe it's because you respect my privacy, and not because you're just not that interested. Or maybe it's because you're afraid of what you might see in there. I guess it could be that, too.

But probably not. Because I'm guessing you don't really think I have anything to hide. Probably most people think that. Admit it, you'd be surprised to know I'm capable of holding anything back. You probably think that every thought that flits through my mind just automatically comes out my mouth. And it's true, a lot of them do. Okay, most of them do. Especially when I'm drunk. And more especially when I'm drunk on tequila, for some reason. Like I was tonight.

But tonight, unlike every other time I've needed him, Jose Cuervo let me down. Because even with all that Latin liquid courage, for whatever reason, I just couldn't say what I wanted to say to you. Maybe that's a good thing. I'm sure you'd think it was. And really, that's all that should have mattered tonight. Your feelings. Not mine.

Tonight was your going-away party, Beca. And wow, I thought I was totally used to that idea by now, but it still hurts to even write those words. What a weird phrase anyway, right? Going-away party. Like there's anything to celebrate when someone goes away. There's not, as far as I'm concerned. At least not for the people left behind.

It was an amazing party, though, I have to admit that. You know we wouldn't send you off with anything less. Everyone had a great time. Maybe a little too great, in some cases. I probably shouldn't have suggested that game of drunk Truth or Dare. Who would have thought Emily would be the type to choose a dare? And how does she even know how to use a stripper pole, anyway? That girl is full of surprises. Sometimes mildly uncomfortable ones.

I think you had fun, too. In fact, I know you did, because I can always tell when you're faking it. Even better than Jesse, I think. Sometimes he doesn't seem to have much of a clue when you're faking it. (I'm talking about having fun at parties, obviously. If you're doing any other kind of faking when you're alone with him, I wouldn't know about that. Although to be honest, I do sometimes get the impression that in that particular area, he's maybe not… you know what, forget it. That's none of my business. I'm sure he tries his best.)

Anyway, if you were reading this, which you're not, you'd probably be wondering what the big mystery is. What exactly was it that I was planning to tell you at this party? The thing is, and I know this sounds ridiculous… I didn't even have any specific words prepared. It was more of an idea, I guess. Or an urge. Just this vague, undefined, but still really powerful conviction that I couldn't put it off any longer, that tonight was the night I would finally… what? Nothing too dramatic, I promise, nothing that would really freak you out. Just a hint, or maybe something a little stronger than a hint, just something to let you know that the door is open. That's all. That the door is open, in case you ever want to walk through it. And if not, then that's fine too, and nothing between us ever has to change.

I guess my tentative plan was to get you somewhere alone, outside maybe, to get some air. Someplace quiet where we could talk. And all night, I kept waiting for the right moment. I was trying not to drink too much, not so much that I'd be trashed, but enough so that my confidence would stay high. I watched you hanging out with everyone, letting Amy pull you around like a ragdoll, letting Lilly take your portrait with that weird black and white camera she's obsessed with lately, letting Benji predict your future with a set of fortune cards (what did he tell you that freaked you out so much, anyway? I'm dying to know.) I watched you mingling, on your best behavior, accepting well-wishes from everyone gracefully and with rare patience, and I felt so proud of you, because I know how much you hate that stuff.

And I watched you with Jesse. I watched the two of you laughing together, and dancing, and I saw when he pulled you into a dark corner for a kiss. I saw how happy you looked, how happy you both looked. It surprised me a little, to be honest. It was more noticeable than it's been in a long time. I guess I thought… I don't know what I thought. But you both seemed happy tonight. You looked like a couple, a real couple. I know what it looks like, even if I don't really know what it feels like. And that's when I lost my nerve.

So when I finally did spot my opportunity, when you went to get another bag of ice from the freezer and there was no one else around, it turned out that I couldn't say anything at all. Or at least not anything out of the ordinary. But I guess I must have still seemed nervous, because you kept giving me this strange look, like you could tell something was off. At one point you asked me if everything was okay, and even with that perfect opening, I chickened out. I know, it's hard to believe. It isn't like me at all. When am I ever afraid to go for what I want? But that's what happened.

All I could do was hug you, and tell you how much I was gonna miss you. Which is true, of course, just not what I really wanted to say. But maybe I'd had too much to drink after all, because with my arms around you I could feel the emotion coming, and you reminded me that we'd all promised no tears tonight, not at the party. You told me to save it for tomorrow morning, and made sure I remembered the time and place we're supposed to meet at the airport before your flight to New Orleans to see your mom. None of the other girls will be there, just Jesse. And me. You asked me weeks ago.

Of course I said yes. I'm your best friend, how could I say no? I am your best friend, right? I mean, I know you're close to Amy, and I've never been jealous of that. But I like to think it's different with us. You and Amy formed this super tight bond over the years, gradually, but with us, it feels like it happened all at once, right at the beginning. Like we never even had to work for it, it was just there. Or maybe it only felt that way to me. But the very first time we sang together, in that shower? It was like something just clicked. Like something I'd been missing forever finally fell into place. It felt like we'd known each other for years, Beca. And I knew that if I could just get you into the Bellas, that I would know you for the rest of my life.

Does that sound too over the top? I know I come on kinda strong sometimes. Every once in awhile I get the feeling that you're wondering why I even like you so much, why I'm so persistent about being close to you. And the truth is, I'm not really sure. It's not like you have the greatest personality, I'm sure you'd be the first to admit that. You can be kind of a jerk sometimes. But I know that outer shell isn't nearly as thick as you want everyone to think it is, and that you're pretty soft underneath it. I also know you care about us all more than you'd ever admit, and that you really love being a Bella.

But honestly, it's more than just the Bellas. Even without the group, I think I would have wanted to know you better. There's so much I love about you. I love how passionate you are about your music, how it's like a religion for you. I love how funny you are. (Do you even know how funny you are? I keep telling you to start a Twitter account, but I'm sure you'll never listen.) I love the way you sometimes smile so fast, like you're not expecting it - one second there's no smile, and then it just lights up your whole face, I never get tired of seeing it happen. And I love the way you just accept me for who I am and don't try to change me.

All my life I've been told I'm weird. I usually don't mind, because I know it's true. But I guess that's why I've never had a relationship that's lasted longer than a few months, because after they really get to know me guys usually get scared and want out. It's never worried me that much, I guess I just always assumed the right person is out there somewhere, and I might as well have fun with the placeholders. Sometimes it still hurts a little, though, when they look at me like I'm from another planet. But when you call me weird, it sounds like a compliment. Why is that? Maybe because I know there's affection underneath the judging, no matter how much you try to hide it. Maybe because to you, I was never just a hot girl who turned out to be more complicated than you bargained for. You knew I was a freak from the very beginning, and it didn't scare you off. When you showed up at auditions that day, I knew I was right about you.

And I never doubted that feeling, even during that first year when things were so stressful with Aubrey. I knew everything would work itself out eventually. Okay, it's true, I probably could have helped that process along a little more, but you know I hate confrontation. I'm trying to stand up for myself more these days, and that's partly thanks to you. And honestly, it's probably best that things happened the way they did, because Aubrey is just as stubborn as you are. She has to figure things out on her own, that's the only way she'll accept that someone else is right. That moment, when we won the finals? It was worth everything that came before it.

That was also the night I started thinking about the future. Or, technically, dreading it. It's not like I didn't know I was a senior, it's just that with everything being so crazy, and all that rehearsing, I hadn't really given a lot of thought to it. To what graduation would mean. Over the next few days, you guys were so excited about the upcoming season, and you all started talking about what songs you might want to do, about new choreography you could try, whether you could do a longer set… and that was when I really started freaking out. I couldn't handle the thought that I wouldn't be there for that, that I wouldn't get to see you being the badass captain that I knew you could be. That I wouldn't get to see you, period. Deep down, if I'm really honest with myself, that was the scariest part.

After we got back to campus, I tried to make myself stop thinking about it. Aubrey was so excited about graduating, and she did her best to get me on board. But, you know, her pep talks can sometimes be less than… inspirational. And after some anecdotes from her dad that involved roadside bombs (don't even ask), I had this really terrible dream one night. It wasn't about bombs, but for me, it was even worse than that. In the dream, the Bellas were performing at the national championships again, and I was there to visit. To watch you guys, I guess. You were incredible, of course, you won first place easily. And after the show I went backstage, to hang out, to tell you how great you were and how proud I was.

But when I got back there… you didn't know who I was. You didn't remember me. None of you remembered me.

I know it's stupid. It doesn't even make sense. I would never wait a whole year to get in touch. And of course you wouldn't forget me, not that fast. And how could you possibly win Nationals doing a Garth Brooks/Eminem mash-up? Nothing about that dream had any relationship to reality.

But the point is, it felt real. It felt so real.

And so, after I woke up, I made a decision. I decided once and for all that I wasn't ready to move on, and that nobody could make me. So I immediately grabbed my graduation paperwork, threw it in the trash, and set it on fire. I know that sounds crazy, but sometimes a girl just needs to make a dramatic gesture. A little too dramatic, unfortunately - the flames got a bit out of control, Aubrey woke up and freaked out, and, well, long story short, after the fire department left I was officially banned from all campus dorms. Not just for the fire, but also for a four year history of singing too loud, smuggling in alcohol, and "inappropriate shower behavior," whatever that means. Good thing we got the Bella house the next semester!

Looking back, I think getting that house was so important for all of us, as a group. Living together, it changed everything. We became so much more than just a singing group in that house. We became a family. Did I ever tell you that when Aubrey and I were freshmen, we went through Rush Week and tried to pledge? The sorority we chose was the one that lived in that house, believe it or not. But unfortunately, they didn't choose us back. It was kind of shocking, because, I mean, look at us. We're what frat boy dreams are made of. Why wouldn't they want us? (We found out much later that it was because they thought we were a couple. I know, right? Why would they think that? It's insane. But apparently we had "a vibe," and it weirded them out.)

Anyway, it turns out that it was the best thing that could have happened, because if we'd joined that sorority, we never would have had time for the Bellas. So I never felt bitter about it, not for a minute. But the fact that the dean ended up giving us their house after they were banned from campus under suspicion of running a brothel? I believe that's what some might call poetic justice. (But like I said, no bitterness.)

I'm getting off track here. My point was that the house brought us all closer than we could have ever been without it. From your perspective, that might have been a little too close, at times. I admit, I definitely took advantage of the fact that you really had no escape. Sometimes I think I shouldn't tease you and flirt with you so much. But you know me, I just can't help myself. It's so much fun. You get so flustered sometimes, so weird about it, and kind of huffy and annoyed - but not the way you do when other people tease you. It's different, somehow, with us. I can't put my finger on exactly why, but it is. There's something there. I think you can feel it too, and that's why you work so hard to shut it down, to pretend it's not real. What would happen if you stopped fighting it so hard, Beca? Do you ever think about that at all? Probably not.

But I do. That's the question I keep going back to in my head, more and more often lately, wondering what it would be like, how it would go. I've imagined it so many different ways, and they're probably all ridiculous, and overdramatic, and not at all plausible. One of them is literally just a scene from The Notebook. (God, I'm so glad you're not reading this.)

And the thing is, maybe, if we went there? It wouldn't work at all. It might feel all kinds of wrong. Maybe if we tried to kiss we'd last two seconds and then look at each other in disgust, or burst out laughing, like Flaca and Maritza. Maybe I'm crazy and this is all just some kind of misplaced projection because I'm an only child and I always wanted a little sister.

(Although, full disclosure, some of the things I've imagined us doing to each other would be so beyond inappropriate for sisters. Possibly illegal in some states.)

So even though it's hard for me to accept it, I know there's a chance that it would be a disaster. Especially if the timing was wrong. Because at this point, I know you don't see me the way I see you. Sometimes I think you could, one day. I think it might be possible to get you there. Maybe you could grow to think of me as something more than a friend, over time. Or maybe it would hit you suddenly, like a lightning bolt, and you would just grab me, and kiss me until neither of us could breathe, and our bodies would be lit up like sparklers, and somehow without even knowing it we'd be tugging each others' clothes off and tripping over ourselves to get to a bed, or just the nearest available horizontal surface, and even though we'd be so hot and in such a hurry, I would slow it down because I wouldn't want to rush through it, just in case it never happened again, I'd want to draw it out by kissing every single inch on the surface of your body even if it took all night, to memorize and map out every little sound you make and exactly how your breathing changes, to make sure I never forget it, or at least I'd try to keep it slow until you'd get so impatient you wouldn't be able to stand it anymore and you'd grab my hair and yank my head up and beg me to just…...

You know what, I think I'm gonna have to take a little time-out, just for a sec. This is going in a direction I wasn't really intending. Hang out till I get back?

Okay, I'm back. Sorry, just got a little worked up there, needed to let off some steam. Metaphorically speaking. But also literally speaking, because it was pretty steamy in the shower. I won't even pretend I'm ashamed, because you know I'm not. And I know you wouldn't judge me. (Okay, that's not true, you would so judge me. But I wouldn't be offended.)

But just so you know, this thing that I have for you… whatever it is, whatever you want to call it, it's not just physical. I mean, it is that too, I'm not gonna lie. But it's so much more than that. I know that for sure now. I've known for sure since earlier this summer, since the Fourth of July, to be exact. Something happened that night. I felt something that was… honestly? I don't know how to describe it. Something big. Like a fault line opening up in an earthquake. It split my life in half. Everything before that night is on one side, and now I'm stranded on the other side, alone, trying to figure out how to get back. Trying to figure out whether I even want to get back.

If you were reading this, then maybe you'd already know where this is going. You remember how when Aubrey invited us all back to the retreat, you didn't want to go at first? I distinctly recall the words "booby-trapped hellhole" being mentioned a few times. But she promised us no organized activities, plus actual rooms in the lodge with full spa access, so how could anyone say no to that?

And of course, since it was a holiday, there was no shortage of alcohol. I made sure of that. You drank a lot more than you usually do, maybe because Jesse wasn't around to make fun of you. I guess that's why you ended up agreeing to go skinny-dipping with the rest of us after it got dark, even though you swore up and down that you wouldn't go anywhere near that lake ever again. It was such a beautiful night though, and we had the whole place to ourselves, and… well, Stacie said you were too much of a prude and you'd never do it. Now that I think about it, proving her wrong was probably your only motivation for stripping and jumping in.

But it wasn't the skinny-dipping that rocked my whole world to its foundations. (Don't get me wrong though, it was so much fun. And it may have been dark, but it wasn't that dark, you know what I mean? Especially when you're so white that your skin nearly glows in the moonlight. Maybe when you're out in California you'll get a little more sun? Not too much, though, I know how easily you burn.)

So like I was saying, it wasn't the swimming, it was what happened after we got out of the water. We'd probably been too drunk to notice it earlier, but it was actually pretty cool for July, upstate in the mountains like that. Much cooler than it would have been in Atlanta, and after being in the lake for so long, it was even more noticeable. We all probably should have gone inside for hot showers, but Aubrey had a fireworks display planned, and you know she's never been the best at deviating from a schedule.

But by the time she was ready to get started, you were looking so miserable. I can always tell when you're cold. No, not because of that. Although yes, also because of that - it's not like you try to hide them, you know? I mean, why would you? They're amazing. Like an anatomical miracle.

What was I talking about? Oh, right, how I can tell that you're cold. It's because of the way you stand, with your arms crossed and your shoulders all hunched forward like you're trying to cave into yourself. Even when you're being difficult and won't admit it, like usual, I can tell when you're freezing. That's how it was that night. You'd dried off and changed back into your shorts and t-shirt, but that clearly wasn't enough, and I knew you hadn't brought anything warmer.

But it just so happened that I'd packed a button-down knit cardigan. It was one of the very few nights of my life that I was prepared for cold weather, remember how surprised you were? But you were of course too stubborn to let me give it to you, because you knew then I'd be cold. So I said we could share it. You thought that was an idiotic idea at first, but I showed you how huge it was, how much room there was inside, and after a lot of coaxing and promising to behave myself, I finally convinced you. Or maybe it was the fact that your teeth were starting to chatter. Whatever it was, you gave in.

So we sat on the ground on a slope by the lake, but in order for the sweater to fit around both of us, we couldn't sit shoulder to shoulder - you had to sit just a little bit in front of me, so we could wrap it all the way around us like a blanket. It must have looked odd, but the fireworks were just starting, so I don't think anyone else even paid attention. And for someone who'd been making fun of everyone else's fireworks anticipation all day, I noticed you seemed pretty mesmerized by the display. But in order to look up to see them, you had to lean back against me a little, with your head against my shoulder, right next to mine. And so that's what you did.

What surprised me so much, what still surprises me when I think back on it, is how relaxed you felt, leaning into me like that. Not at all the way you usually do when I touch you. Maybe because you were tired, or a little drunk, or still cold, or because you knew we weren't going to be together much longer and so it took the pressure off. Whatever the reason, you were leaning into me like you'd done it a hundred times before, like it was the most comfortable thing in the world. And it was, for me at least. It's funny, you wouldn't think we'd fit so perfectly against each other, since we're both on the small side, and yet somehow we do.

I don't remember anything about the fireworks that night. I'm sure they were beautiful, but I didn't even notice. All I remember is how it felt to have you that close. I remember the moment you finally stopped shivering. I remember how you jumped a little every time a really loud explosion went off, and that you didn't even bother trying to hide it. I remember the scent of your skin, which I think I could recognize even if we hadn't seen each other for fifty years. I don't think you'll ever have any idea how hard I tried not to kiss the top of your shoulder, because it was so close, right under my chin. The struggle was real, Beca.

I know we only sat there like that for a few minutes, but I lived an eternity in those few moments. And if you were reading this, you'd be trying so hard not to roll your eyes right now. I know how cheesy that sounds. Even for me, it's almost beyond the limit. But I don't care.

You know how sometimes you have a dream at night, and there's something in it that makes you so happy, that just feels so right… and then you wake up, and you realize none of it was real? But what you felt, in the dream, that was real. Even if you were asleep, you know that the emotion was real. It's like that in the bad ones, too, but somehow it's even worse in the good ones, even more heartbreaking. Because it's not a relief to wake up. It only starts hurting when you wake up.

That's sort of how it felt that night. Like I was having the best dream I'd ever had, only I knew that I was dreaming, and I knew it wouldn't last.

But while we were sitting there like that, and you were leaning back against me to look up at the sky, and I sort of had my arms around you (because where else was I gonna put them?) the strangest thought suddenly popped into my head. It just came out of nowhere. I thought, This is what it would feel like. To have a girlfriend.

But no, that's not what I mean. Not a girlfriend. You, Beca. Just you. There is no other girl. You're the only girl.

And when the fireworks were finally over and you got up and we went back inside, that's when I made myself remember that you're already somebody's girlfriend. A great somebody, actually. As far as guys go, he's one of the best. Sometimes I wish there was something to hate about him.

Do you remember when I was reading Anna Karenina? It's one of the books we covered in Russian Lit, it's totally massive, like a thousand pages long. Flo used to borrow it to stand on when she needed to reach a high shelf in the kitchen, because I always had it with me. I've read the first half of it three times, so I'm kind of an expert.

Anyway, the gist of it is that Anna's got this basically perfect life. Her husband's a nice guy, she's got an adorable little boy, they live in a great house and have plenty of money. It's like, she doesn't even really know she's unhappy, until she meets this other guy, Vronsky. And then she realizes that she's been miserable the whole time, because she was never actually in love with her husband.

And so she just gives it all up to go and live with her lover. Back then, that was a big deal. She was willing to throw away everything, just for one shot at real passion. Even though it meant losing everything she already had, everything in her comfortable, familiar life. Think about the kind of courage that would take. Would you be that brave, if you had the chance? Would I? I need to believe that I would. But I don't know. I really don't. If tonight is any indication, then I guess probably not.

And if you're wondering what happened in the second half of the book, I admit I've never actually made it to the end. But I'm assuming everything went fine, and she lived happily ever after with her lover. I hope so, anyway. I asked your dad about it, during my last faculty advisor meeting, and he said, yep, that's pretty much exactly what happens, and I shouldn't read any further.

(Your dad is so cool. I know you hate it when I say that, but it's the truth, so deal with it. You already know I think you take him for granted. But I'm not here to lecture you, so no more on that subject, I promise.)

I'm not even sure why I brought up that book. It's not like I think Jesse can be compared to Anna's husband. And he's not your husband, anyway. I keep thinking he's gonna propose any day now, but he never does. When it finally happens, I hope I can be happy for you. But since you're not gonna read this, I'll admit that deep down, the thought of you marrying him, having kids with him, the thought of you being with him forever? It makes my heart hurt so bad that I can hardly breathe.

God, that's probably not a good sign, is it? That sounds like more than just a crush, or an addiction, or an obsession, or whatever other words I've been using to describe this thing that I have for you, when I do let myself think about it in words. Of course, there is one word that I haven't used yet. But no, I can't go there. Not out loud, not in writing, not even in my head. I can't think about that word yet. About what it might mean. It's too scary. It's just… too much. Does this sound melodramatic? I'm probably just being a drama queen, like usual.

If you were to read this, I know how much it would freak you out. I know you're not ready to hear any of this stuff yet, and maybe you never will be. And if you're not, then I hope that I have the wisdom to recognize that, and the maturity to not force it on you. Because flirting is one thing, and there's nothing that will keep me from pushing your cute little buttons whenever I get the chance. I'd never have the willpower to give that up. But I know where to draw the line. Or at least, I hope I do.

It's not just that I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or the possibility that you wouldn't take me seriously. That stuff scares me, but if that's all it was, I'd risk it. But the thing is, there are certain confessions that, once you put them out there? They have the power to change everything. And not always in a good way. What happens if I end up ruining everything we already have, this incredible friendship that's been four years in the making? I need that friendship. And I don't think I'm assuming too much when I say that you do, too. Because I know you've never had anything like this before.

And that's why I can't put it all on the line, not yet. Because I know how you are, Beca. You hold on to things. You don't forget. It took you a year to trust Cynthia-Rose again after that time she secretly recorded you rapping Shoop in the shower and made it her ring tone. That's how I know that if I screwed things up between us, there would be no reset button. Even if you said we could pretend it never happened, just act like nothing's changed, you wouldn't be able to. It would always be there between us.

So for now, I'm good with things staying the way they are. I love being your friend. I won't say that it's enough, but it's almost enough. As long as we can talk every few days, and see each other every few months (we will, won't we?), and as long as I know I'm the person you go to on the rare occasions when you feel like spilling everything. After all, I'd rather be your friend than to not be your anything. I hope you know you can call or text me at any time of the day or night. I know it's gonna be lonely out there, without Jesse. I also know he's gonna be really busy in New York, so he might not always have time to talk. But if anyone can make that long-distance relationship thing work, it should be you guys.

As for me, I'll still be right here in Atlanta for the foreseeable future, living with Stacie. She's got a job at the CDC… doing what, I'm not sure, but she's been really busy trying to find a lab coat that makes her boobs look good. And I'll be working on my dad's Congressional campaign. It's not exactly something I want to do, but the thing is, I don't really have a choice. It's complicated. Maybe I'll explain it to you someday, if you ever ask. But I know you don't like to get involved in other people's personal drama, if you can help it. I don't hold it against you, it's just the way you are. And I'm a big fan of the way you are. Did I mention that already?

Anyway, I feel like I'm starting to ramble and repeat myself here. It's late, and I'm tired, and probably still a little drunk. It's a good thing I don't have to go anywhere in the morning.

Because here's the thing: I know I told you I'd see you off at the airport, with Jesse, but the truth is, Beca… I'm not gonna be there. I can't do it. I'm so sorry. It's not that I mind being the third wheel, because I'm pretty used to that by now. But for this, I think it should probably just be you and him. (And honestly? It's maybe a little bit odd that you don't realize that. He is your boyfriend, after all. You're not gonna see him for months. Why did you even want me there?)

If I showed up, knowing that this was really the last time we'll be together for who knows how long, then I'm afraid I'll say something I shouldn't say, that the courage that failed me tonight will return at the worst possible moment. And the funny thing is, I'm just as afraid that it won't, and that I'll stand there and watch you get on that plane, and you won't have any idea. Either option seems pretty shitty, at the moment. So I'm just gonna take both options off the table. Which means we won't really get to say goodbye at all, and maybe that's for the best. Because there's nothing in the world that I hate more than saying goodbye.

Whether we say it or not though, I know it won't stop you from going. Everyone's leaving, everyone's starting their real lives now. This is actually happening. I won't lie, these next few months are gonna be tough. The truth is, I'm so scared. I don't know who I am without the Bellas. Without you. But I guess I have to find out.

That's why I've decided it's probably a good thing, for us to be away from each other. Good for me, anyway. I have to try to move on with my life, from acapella, from… whatever this is. I should be dating someone. I mean, let's face it, I'm never gonna be this hot again, it's all downhill from here. I already burned off three extra years in college, so, the clock is ticking, you know? Maybe I'll try one of those online dating sites. Or a matchmaking service. Maybe if a guy knows about all my quirks beforehand, they won't come as such a shock.

But none of that is your problem. You've got so much else to think about now. You know what, I was wrong before, when I said there isn't anything to celebrate about a going-away party. That was selfish, and immature, and I've got to stop thinking like that. It isn't about the people staying behind, it's about you. And you should be celebrating. I hope that L.A. is everything that you ever dreamed it would be. You're so brilliant, and so, so talented, more than you even realize, I think. You understand music on a level that most people could never hope to reach, and I'm so grateful I got to watch you work your magic for four years. I'm also super jealous of all the people who'll get to work with you out in the real world, and see you do it every day. You're gonna blow their minds, they seriously won't even know what hit them.

(I admit I'm maybe just the slightest bit worried about you living completely alone, though. I hope you take care of yourself, and that you make lots of new friends, and that you'll let me know if you need anything. You know if I thought you needed me, I'd be there in a heartbeat, right?)

And in the meantime, I hope you have fun in New Orleans with your mom. I know I've only met her a few times, but she's awesome, I feel like I really connected with her. In a weird way, I think I'm more like her than you are, have you ever noticed that? And I really am sorry about the airport. I know you're gonna be pissed, but I think it's for the best. Maybe I'll explain someday.

Good luck, Beca. Be safe. Please don't forget about me. And since you're never gonna read this anyway, I might as well just say it.

I love you.

(See, that wasn't so bad, was it?)

I'll talk to you soon, I promise.

Xoxo,

Chloe