Dear Adrien,

When I sat down and thought, it wasn't hard to do.

I'm glad that you could solve my Ladybug clue.

I'd love to continue with handwritten notes.

Can you illustrate some personal anecdotes?

Thanks for playing,

Ladybug

Dear Ladybug,

If I'm being honest, this is pretty embarrassing for me, but here I go. You're the third person to know about this.

When I was eight, I was at a dinner party for one of my father's clients. It was a typical soiree to attend and always the same—me stuffed inside a hot penguin suit and bored to tears.

I was trying my best to be polite: nodding my head, making sure I was seen and not heard, thinly smiling at everyone at the dining table. The waiter had come by, explained the dishes and took everyone's orders for the second course but because I was too focused on having proper social etiquette, I had completely missed the next courses' descriptions. And this is where my downfall began.

Because while everyone else had opted for the sweet, cooling, perfectly delightful late-Spring strawberry gazpacho, I had chosen the vegetable risotto. And when I took my first bite, I experienced a sear like none before. Heat. Pain. I started sweating, my penguin suit was roasting me alive under the bright, crystal chandelier above me.

Everything inside of me screamed to spit out my first bite. But I could hear my father's daunting voice in the back of my mind, loud and unyielding, compared to my puny inner one, telling me to swallow that searing, spicy heat like a man. And as a young eight year old boy, I was completely submissive of my father's imaginary demands.

So as the food, if I dare call it that, slid down my throat, tears had pooled in my eyes. I kept reassuring myself not to cry even though snot was starting to run down. I wanted to scream, wanted to drink eighty liters of water… anything to remove that scorching bite that lingered in my mouth.

I was sitting there, suffering in silence, watching as the adults kept eating and talking, while I stared down at the unfinished vegetable risotto made from Hell's cauldron. I tried to imagine how anyone with this dish could survive. Truly, they must have had taste buds forged from the Earth's core.

I drank my water as slowly as I could, trying not to bring attention to myself. The room temperature water barely relieved my aching tongue, and I was begging for someone to rescue me from this nightmare.

And like an angel watching over me, my mother glanced over, reading my pained expression. She leaned over, whispered something to my father and gracefully stood up. With a wave of her hand, she silently beckoned me to follow her.

My legs moved before my brain could comprehend. I shot up from my chair and darted toward her back to the kitchen. As I joined her, she had already been speaking with one of the kitchen staff, and the next thing I knew, a large bowl of chocolate ice cream with two spoons appeared before my eyes.

Without a second thought, I plucked the spoon and dove into the chilled cream. My mother took a couple bites here and there as I inhaled until my tongue became numbed by rich, chocolatey goodness.

I remember her face and her bell-like laugh when she wiped the corner of my mouth after I was done. Finally free from the spicy heat, I joined her in laughter, wiping the other chocolate-coated corner with my thumb.

It didn't matter that dinner hadn't been served nor that my mother was in her sparkling, floor-length evening gown, standing in a bustling kitchen. She cared enough to keep my faux pas between us. Our little secret that I couldn't handle a spicy vegetable risotto.

And I realized three things in that moment:

1. I could never trust vegetable risotto ever again

2. Always listen to the waiter's full explanation before ordering

3. My mother knew me better than anyone else

And while, yes, it was an embarrassing moment, I'll always be grateful that she was there for me.

Is there someone in your life who knows exactly what you need with one look?

Happily living a risotto-free life,

Adrien

Dear Adrien,

I'm glad your mother came to your rescue. She sounds wonderful.

I'm sorry that you can't handle spicy food. I happen to love all things spicy. Honestly, I can't remember a time when my family's dinners didn't have a kick. I must have some of those taste buds from the Earth's core. Although I don't like those challenges where it's just pain, I like a healthy dose of spice that wakes up my taste buds.

As far as someone who gets me with one look… I'd have to say my best friend. We've been inseparable since collège. She's the one who encouraged me to do the Ladybug challenge, actually. So, make sure to thank her if you ever meet her. (Not that she'd let you forget)

I have so many stories that I could share, but my favorite is when we had to replace someone's pet fish. Okay, so, that sounds really bad but… hear me out.

You know how the average betta fish only lives two to four years? Well… the owner had to go away for a couple nights and had asked me to watch her beloved bubble-blowing baby, Sparkles. He was this rare, absolutely gorgeous Pink Orchid betta.

Friday night, she came over to my house and dropped off the fish, food and enrichment toys (did you know fish need enrichment?).

Anyways, Saturday morning, I woke up, yawned and stretched, climbed off my bed, and still halfway in dreamland, I grabbed two food pellets and dropped them into the fishbowl.

After I ate breakfast and had my morning coffee, now fully awake and ready for the day, I realized the pellets were still floating on the top. Weird, right?

I peered into the fishbowl and… Sparkles decided to kick rocks.

No, I'm absolutely serious. He actually buried his head in the pink pebbles and died.

…what!

SPARKLES NO DON'T DO THIS YOUR OWNER WILL BE DEVASTATED (and will never ever ever ever ever ever trust me again). My reputation as a good pet sitter would be tarnished. I'm pretty sure they'd label me as 'Fish Killer' the rest of my life. Nobody would hire me after that! I'd go to future job interviews, and they'd tell me, "Sorry, Fish Killer, unfortunately, we can't hire you based on your criminal history." And I would cry and be forced to live out my days in deep remorse. A tragic life ahead for your dearest pen pal Ladybug.

I called up my best friend, absolutely losing my mind. An hour later, she comes over, looks into the bowl and says the very reassuring phrase, "Yep. That's one dead fish." (Enlightening, really. I don't know how I get by without her.) But I ate my words when she suggested, "We need to replace him."

There was a small part of me that thought, "Hey, this is a bad idea. We should just come clean and tell the owner what happened." But what I actually said was, "You're brilliant! Let's go!"

We spent the whole day scouring every specialty fish shop and pet store in Paris trying to find a Pink Orchid Betta, and it was not easy.

We finally stumble upon this dingy storefront, desperate and ready to throw in the towel, when she and I are met with a man who looks like Sam Wing. Every brain cell I had told me "Don't go in there. Don't buy anything."

But then I see it: the pink light at the end of a dark tunnel. All previous questions immediately evaporate because he has the Pink Orchid betta fish. The one that my best friend and I spent hours looking for. So, ignoring my shoulder angel, we pay the man in cash and carry the new Sparkles back to my place.

The next day, the owner comes back to pick up her fish. I'm sweating bullets, trying my best not to look as paranoid as someone who was covering up a murder. She coos over Sparkles (II), doesn't mention anything about her (totally not replaced) fish, and I wash my hands clean of the whole affair.

My best friend and I laughed about it for weeks after because how in the world did we get away with it?

When I think about it, it was a borderline tragedy (RIP Sparkles). But even if it's just a simple fish, I at least know that my best friend is my ride or die.

What's something you've gotten away with that you probably shouldn't have?

Just a normal girl with a normal life,

Ladybug

P.S. I'm still waiting for a pink gremlins outbreak.

P.P.S. If we ever have you for dinner, I'd have to let my parents know not to accidentally kill your tastebuds (I make no promises though).

Dear Ladybug,

My house is unnaturally clean. Sometimes I'm afraid to step in the wrong place and even though I'm seventeen, I'm still terrified of my father's wrath. I feel like when I do something wrong, my father has a tingling sensation that tickles the back of his head and somehow he just knows that I'm doing something I shouldn't be.

However, miracles can happen, and this is one of those times.

I once spilled grape juice on the white carpet in the sitting room. I tried to rub towels on the grape juice, looked up every hack to get the stain off, but nothing helped. It was hopeless. I was a mess.

Surely, a homing beacon was sent to my father, he'd catch me and the grape juice stain, and my life was surely going to be over.

Then I spotted a rug, and everything clicked together for me. I shuffled over, hooked onto the soft edge of the Persian rug and tugged until I covered the stain, admiring my shoddy work and praying that my fiendish evildoing shall never be uncovered.

I have survived two years unscathed since that fateful day and yet, I still have a lingering fear in the back of my mind everytime I pass over the rug.

I'm still awaiting my father's executive order for capital punishment against the carpet.

What frightens you more than anything else in the world?

Living in stainful sin against carpets,

Adrien

P.S. I'd love to join your family for dinner someday if you'll have me.

P.P.S. Your best friend sounds awesome. I will definitely have to thank her. Does she prefer flowers or chocolate?

P.P.P.S. If the pink gremlins take over, I have a really good blender you can use

Dear Adrien,

If the stain is ever uncovered, I'll burn your letter to make sure no one finds out about your diabolical deed. Don't worry, I have your back. That's a Ladybug promise, and I don't break promises.

I was lying on my chaise, trying to think of your question and what frightens me. It was actually kind of difficult for me to pick just one fear. I had to list them out because I'm afraid of a lot of things: spiders, scary movies, rejection, burning the kitchen down because I forgot to set a timer, losing at Mecha Strike after an insanely long winning streak (seriously, nobody can beat me. I dare you to try).

But when I really sat down and thought about it, my biggest fear was failing. I'm afraid of failing my friends, my parents, my duties as a student class representative, and my bac. The list could go on and on.

Yet what I'm most afraid of is letting myself down. I have high standards for myself (self-inflicted unnecessary pressure is what my best friend calls it), and I tend to take on multiple projects at once as I have an extremely hard time sitting still.

My brain is constantly going like inertia in a galaxy far, far away. Maybe that's why I look up to the sky, for we have much in common. There's something peaceful about looking up, an anchor tethering me as I think about the fact that my life's problems are miniscule compared to the vast expanse of our universe. Oftentimes, I lose myself when I'm up there.

But the thing that grounds me is the love and support of my friends and my family. Without them, I would be lost.

Is there something you've lost?

Your friendly, neighborhood scaredy-bug,

Ladybug

P.S. I have a pretty cool rooftop view for stargazing. I'd love to show you sometime.

P.P.S. She told me she prefers bragging rights for the rest of time… but chocolate would be nice, too.

Dear Ladybug,

I have lost something of great importance.

My greatest tragedy is my mother's passing.

I remember the white room where my mother peacefully slept, filled with sunlight, cards and flowers.

It should have brought me joy to see so many who loved her, so many who cared for her the way my father did, the way I did.

I remember citrus and disinfectant lingering in the air when my father said my mother's mind was gone, that it was time to let her go, an impossible ask for one so young.

I remember her warm skin and her soft hair underneath my fingertips and my lips when I placed a kiss on her head, a small token of a last goodbye I will carry with me until my dying days.

I remember blood lingering on my tongue as I bit down on my cheek, trying my best not to cry when the nurse turned off her monitor.

I remember the silence that consumed me as my world became numb. Serene, as if death was a kiss on her lips and a balm on my heart.

They say laughter is the best medicine, but I happen to disagree. I think it's the soothing solace that comes with mourning.

Grief is a tragedy in itself, and to our bitter dismay, it is unavoidable.

And it was grief, not joy, that brought me comfort in those dark days.

Yours truly,

Adrien

P.S. Stargazing sounds lovely. I hope you have many nights full of clear skies—as I know that's a hard feat to come by in Paris. If you ask, I'll be there to watch the universe with you.

Dear Adrien,

I'm so sorry for your loss.

There's a poem by Maya Angelou I read when my late grandfather passed. It brought me comfort when I was grieving. I feel like you could resonate with it.
"When I think of death, and of late the idea has come with alarming frequency,
I seem at peace with the idea that a day will dawn when I no longer be among those living in this valley of strange humors.
I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to accept the death of anyone else.
I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that country to no return.
Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in its wake.
I answer the heroic question 'Death, where is thy sting?' with 'It is here in my heart and mind and memories."

If I could hug you right now, I would,

Ladybug

P.S. Do you think that's how Sam felt about Frodo when he went into the Undying lands? You can't convince me Sam wasn't in love with Frodo. Did you see the way he looked at him? True love. They would've kissed. In fact, I'm going to rewrite the LOTR ending right now.

Dear Ladybug,

Thank you for the poem. It was lovely. The pain sneaks up sometimes, usually around her birthday and the anniversary of her death. Although it's been years since she's passed, those days are still the hardest. I'm sorry for your loss as well, losing loved ones is not easy.

So… I have a confession, and I think a haiku is the perfect way to proclaim my shame.

If I am truthful

I have never kissed someone

Romantically.

I hope that doesn't scare you away,

Adrien

P.S. Can I read your LOTR rewrite when it's finished?

Dear Adrien,

I'm not scared... but I'm definitely curious. Does that mean you haven't kissed anyone?

Are you a lip virgin? I absolutely will not judge you if you are!

I haven't kissed anyone that I've been romantically interested in either. I've had a couple silly, spin-the-bottle type of kisses from friends, but I don't think that those kisses really count, do they?

The next time I'm kissed, I want to be kissed by someone who wants me as much as I want them.

Who knows what the future holds?

Hopefully I won't be un-romantically smooched forever,

Ladybug

P.S. We should form a new club together: the Never-Been-Kissed-Romantically Club

P.P.S. When I finish this fic, you can be my first reader

Dear Ladybug,

I am honored that you would include me in your Never-Been-Kissed-Romantically Club. Are there others in the club or is it a secret shared only between the two of us? (I must admit, I kind of like the idea of it just being you and I)

I have the feeling you're not un-smoochable. You did say you were too sweet to pass up ;)

And for the record, I am not a lip virgin. I just haven't kissed the right someone yet. I want the same thing as you, to kiss someone I like who likes me back.

My first kiss was with one of my friends. We were fifteen years old, hanging out in her bedroom. I was reading and lazily stretched out on her bed. One moment she was painting her nails, then next thing I know, she was suggesting that we try kissing each other. So, we did. It was soft, cold, a bit minty and… disappointing. The same as when the dentist taps your lips with his tool to get you to open your mouth.

I was expecting something to stir within me but nothing had. And I laid there, wondering why my first kiss felt so monotonous. I suppose she felt the same because she shrugged, and neither of us mentioned it again. And I don't mean any disrespect to my friend, but I wanted my first kiss to mean something more.

Fairytales and romance novels make it seem like a grand affair. I have read too many books describing how wonderful the tension and build-up to your first kiss is. How when you finally get your first kiss, everything melts away, and it's just you and the person you love left in your own world.

I'm definitely a hopeless romantic. I want to kiss and be kissed. And one day, I would like to think I will kiss someone for the first time, a real first kiss. I know that kiss is out there somewhere. The one I had originally wanted. I guess I'm just waiting for the right person to share it with.

Affectionately yours,

Adrien

P.S. I haven't heard the term, 'lip virgin' before. Do you mind if I steal it from you?