4. The poetry of us
For weeks, Piper McLean had been writing letters. Late at night, in the quiet corners of Camp Half-Blood where shadows stretched long across the cabins, she would sit with a pen in hand, her heart racing as her feelings poured out onto paper. The words were never enough—never captured the depth of what she felt for Annabeth—but she wrote them anyway, all the while hiding behind anonymity. She left them tucked away in the cracks of the Athena cabin, in the folds of Annabeth's books, or sometimes beneath the moonlit branches by the lake.
Each letter was carefully crafted with love, yet Piper never signed them. She couldn’t bear the thought of Annabeth knowing her secret. The fear that maybe Annabeth didn’t feel the same way held her back, even as her feelings deepened. But each letter, each poem, was like a quiet confession in the dark, a piece of Piper’s heart offered to the girl she had come to love in silence.
The poems started small, barely scratching the surface of what Piper wanted to say. They were simple—her words wrapped in hesitation, unsure and unsure of being seen:
Gray eyes like the sea,
Steady, unwavering, yet so wild.
A lighthouse in the storm,
Guiding me when I’m lost, like a child.
Piper would send them, heart racing, always wondering if Annabeth would notice. And Annabeth did, though she never let on. She’d smile softly to herself when she found them, but never said a word. But soon, she couldn’t deny it any longer—the poems spoke to something in her, something deep and familiar. She wasn’t the only one feeling something.
---
One night, when the moon was full and the camp was settling into its usual quiet hum, Piper sat on the steps of the Athena cabin, notebook open before her. Her heart pounded as she scribbled the next letter to Annabeth. This time, her thoughts were clearer, the words coming more easily. Piper’s fingers trembled as she wrote:
Underneath the stars, we’re bound to fall,
Two half-blood hearts answering the call.
You’re the spark in my soul,
The fire that makes me whole.
She folded it carefully, not yet able to bring herself to sign it. It didn’t feel real yet—this love she had for Annabeth. But the words, at least, were true. She slipped it under Annabeth’s pillow before sneaking back to her own bed, her heart pounding in her chest. It was becoming a habit, this secret giving of herself to Annabeth, and Piper wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep it up.
---
But that night, something changed.
The next evening, after dinner, Piper was walking through the woods when she felt a sudden presence behind her. She turned, startled, only to find Annabeth standing there, the faintest smile on her lips.
“Piper,” Annabeth said softly, holding out a folded piece of paper. “I think you dropped something.”
Piper blinked, her breath caught in her throat. “What… what is this?” She reached for the paper, eyes wide with disbelief.
Annabeth’s gray eyes were warm, and there was a quiet confidence in her gaze. “It’s a letter. From me.”
Piper’s hand trembled as she unfolded it, her heart in her throat. She read Annabeth’s words aloud, though her voice was barely a whisper:
You are the fire that lights my night,
A flame I never knew I needed so bright.
I have been blind, but now I see—
The way your heart mirrors mine, wild and free.
Piper’s eyes darted to Annabeth’s face, her pulse racing. Annabeth smiled softly, and Piper felt her world shift. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to do everything all at once. She hadn’t been expecting this—Annabeth, responding with poetry of her own.
“Annabeth…” Piper’s voice faltered. “This is… this is for me?”
Annabeth nodded, her hand brushing gently against Piper’s. “Of course it is. You’ve been writing to me all this time, Piper. I think it’s about time I write back.”
Piper swallowed the lump in her throat, unable to hold back the smile that tugged at her lips. “I didn’t think you knew. I thought I was being sneaky.”
Annabeth grinned. “You’re not as sneaky as you think. I’ve been reading your letters, Piper. Every single one. And I’ve been writing my own for you, too. I just didn’t know if you were ready to hear them yet.”
Tears welled up in Piper’s eyes, but she held them back, her heart swelling in her chest. “I’m ready,” she whispered. “I’m ready for everything.”
---
And so, the exchange began.
Each night, they traded poems. The letters grew bolder, filled with the kind of tenderness that only they could share. They became a secret only the two of them understood—lines of poetry that no one else would ever read, filled with longing, affection, and the steady rhythm of two hearts beating in sync.
One evening, Annabeth sent a letter with a little drawing of a lighthouse, the same one from Piper’s first poem, nestled between the words:
In your eyes, I find my way,
A lighthouse that guides me through the gray.
No storm too fierce, no wave too tall,
With you, I’ll find my way through it all.
Piper held the paper close to her chest, tears brimming in her eyes as she read Annabeth’s words. She had never known love like this before—so open, so raw, and yet so sure. She couldn’t help but respond, her heart pouring out onto the paper:
I am the fire that burns within,
The flame that calls you back again.
No distance too great, no silence too long,
For you, Annabeth, is where I belong.
---
One fateful night, their poems intertwined, no longer needing to be anonymous. No more secrets. No more hiding. They met by the lake, the same place where Piper had written her first letter, and exchanged their final poems under the stars.
Annabeth’s poem was the last one, the one that brought everything into the light:
We are the light, we are the dark,
Two hearts that beat, leaving their mark.
I’ll love you now, I’ll love you always,
Through every storm, for all our days.
Piper read it, her voice shaking with emotion, then looked up at Annabeth. She stepped forward, her hands trembling as she cupped Annabeth’s face. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice full of certainty. “I always have.”
Annabeth smiled, her eyes glimmering. “I know, Piper. And I love you, too. Always.”
And with that, there was no more distance between them—no more secrets, no more hiding. Just two hearts, bound by love, by poetry, by the promise that they would always be there for each other. Forever.