happy third anniversary, the heartbreaker's handbook!
10.07.25
it’s been three years since thh was published, and a lot of things have changed since then. thh was published after my a-levels, and on the third anniversary, i am five days away from graduating with my degree. there haven’t been bonus stories this year, but i’ve been thoroughly enjoying throwing tristan and camilla into various situations and dragging the rest of their castmates down with them. more on that later.
this year, there are twenty-three bonus scenes. they’ll be dropping later. and to keep with the tradition of alternative universes and the anniversary, one of the many situations i put tristan and camilla will be shared. it’s one of my personal favourites.
there’s also going to be a series of letters, written between the characters, that they never sent. there’s something to be said about all the things they are able to say, just because they don’t have to actually say them.
i still hold thh dear to my heart. i don’t think anything i ever do will mean as much to me as actually becoming a published author. when i look back on the book, some of it cringes me out. but the majority of it makes me proud. i wrote all of it from the heart, and i didn’t give up on it. even when i wanted to. part of why i never gave up was because of the people who knew me. you are the reason we have a book. and to my friends who are the reason we have a show, i love you.
flowers used and their meanings: yellow carnations- disdain, disappointment, rejection / white chrysantheum- truth / daisy- i'll never tell / forget-me-not- true love memories, do not forget me / purple hyacinth- sorrow / marigold- grief / sweet pea- goodbye / zinnia- thoughts of absent friends / peony- shame / dark crimson rose- mourning
You wouldn’t know this, but when I was in grief counselling they told me that sometimes you need to imagine yourself having a conversation with the person you’re grieving. And I know you’re still alive, but I’ve lost you. I won’t ever have you the same way I used to ever again. So, I am going to treat this as though we are having a conversation.
I think I’m a bad person. I like to think that you would tell me I’m not, but you weren’t moral either. But you at least had a justification. I hope you’ve understood how problematic everything was. For all of you. Us. I don’t know if I can be considered one of you. It never felt like I was, even when they gave me the crown. I don’t want to talk about that.
I don’t think I’d change any of it. That’s why I think I’m a bad person. All of it led to us. I know it was only once. I know that everything had fallen apart beforehand, and then everything fell apart again after, but it was everything. I’ve never seen you do anything because you wanted it. Aside from that. You looked beautiful. I hope you know.
Mr Carter sent me a photo. It’s of us at the dance. I’ve never seen myself look like that. I actually resemble my mother when she was my age. I’ve never understood the comparison. She’s so beautiful. Anyways. You’re looking at me like I’m everything. I’m surprised I knew how to handle it. Well, no, I’m not. In that moment, I was still so paranoid about everything. I didn’t even process what was happening. It feels like a different life. And now that I’m home- coming back made me realise I was always supposed to leave, one way or another- it almost is. He also gave me your message. I cried. But my mum hugged me. She’s… not done that in a while. It’s my own fault. I keep pushing her away. She won’t stop trying with me though. I hope someone eventually does that for you. I’m sorry it couldn’t be me.
Something you said has been sticking with me. When you told me you loved me, you said you couldn’t do it more poetically and that you were sorry for that. There’s a poem in there somewhere. When I can write without feeling like something is fundamentally wrong with what I’m saying, I’ll work it. I never wanted poetry from you. I just wanted honesty. You gave everyone these flowery and beautiful and lovely declarations and none of them were real. I knew you weren’t lying because it was hesitant and awkward. And it was perfect. I hope you know that. I hope you don’t remember my own confession too well. It was embarrassing. In the way that it was just too much and it probably sounded so bad out loud. But it was all true. There’s a saying, that the centre of every poem is the fact that you have to deal with the fact that you loved someone. That’s why I can’t do anything other than write a letter I can never send. I’m still dealing with it. I think I always will be.
There’s so many things I want to say, but I can’t even remember half of them now. I’m imagining your face. I think that’s why. Your eyes are dead. I don’t mean that as an insult, even if it sounds like one. Because I’m exactly the same. There are photos from when I was younger and I can’t even stand looking at them. There are photos from now and I don’t understand how nobody has noticed. My eyes don’t look dead in the photo of us. They’re sparkling the way people say they do. Thank you for that.
How are you handling flames? It’s quite embarrassing- we had a fire drill, and I started crying. You probably wouldn’t have. You would’ve just grit your teeth and left, even if the ringing took you back to a different time. You’ve always been an amazing performer. I really do hope you become a lawyer. You were made to be like those lawyers in the American crime shows we all love. Maybe I shouldn’t bring those up. Viola loved them.
In another life, I don’t even write this. Because I don’t need to. I say it to your face like someone who is brave. Or like someone who didn’t lose you. But I am a coward, and you are gone. I hope we find our way back to each other. I hope that one day, you will look me up and see that I wrote a perfect story about people who aren’t us but are and that they end up together. I hope that in ten years time, I’ll look into what you’re doing, and you’ll be at law school.
I wish you’d kissed me when I asked you to. Then I would have one more for the memory. I’m afraid I’m going to forget how it felt, having you against me. I think it’s already fading. I want to believe it’s for the best but I can’t. I should stop.
I love you and I won’t say more than that,
Camilla
It’s kind of ironic. The only reason I’m saying any of this is because I know you’ll never see it. It’s going to be hidden under my mattress. And you don’t go through my things. You never had. I always wondered why you didn’t. I get that it’s basic respect, but you never once asked for my phone. You just trusted me. I think if you saw the things I got up to you, you wouldn’t. But that’s not something we need to get into.
I do love you. Even if it’s not always certain. I love you so much that I don’t know how to live with it. I think I’m scared of what will happen when that love becomes grief. I know you joke about not always being here, but it’s not really a joke is it? You’re not going to see my entire life, because I cannot let you bury me. Not after we came so close. I’m going to- I really don’t want to think about that. More importantly, I like you. You did everything you could. How could I not forgive you for the things you didn’t?
I still question it sometimes. How you were able to love me so easily after everything. I know you’ll say the same thing as Baba. That I was seventeen. That there was a lot going on. That I couldn’t have known. But everyone else was seventeen. Everyone else had a lot going on. I was there at the start of it all. Most people weren’t. Even when you gave me my bag and told me to go, there was love in your eyes. What would it take for you to stop loving me, and how have we not reached that point? I don’t think anyone could ever love me as much as you. I don’t think I’d even want them to. It's a little bit scary.
You never pushed about what happened with Tristan. And I am not going to volunteer that information. It’s for me and him to know. It was pretty obvious that something happened, but beyond that, it’s nobody’s business. Nobody will ever need to know what we said to each other. But I told him I loved him. I told him I loved him the way you dreamed of when you think of my future. And I still think that was true. Because I loved him out of choice. Maybe circumstance made it easier, but I still chose to kiss him. I chose him. Maybe the future can be that simple. It’s devastating. To know that your biggest wish is that I have choices. I don’t know how to handle the guilt. I don’t even know if I’m supposed to feel guilty. You would tell me I don’t need to. That I shouldn’t. But you weren’t there for everything. You could have gone to that school if they had found you earlier. You would have been the perfect rebel. Much better than me. Or worse. I think it depends on whose eyes you look at the situation through.
Thank you for telling me as soon as he sent his apologies. I think, if the situations had been reversed, his mother would have hidden that information. I know that Victoria Nightingale moved the bar below hell, but I had never been so grateful to have you when I heard his stories about her. And I’m sorry it took me so long to realise you are one of the good ones. You have deserved so much more than I have given.
I’m sorry I wasn’t brave enough to commit to writing. I would have written about you if I had. In another universe, I would have written about a good mother and a selfish daughter. I would have written about a young woman who shares a similar name to yours and who goes on the best adventures anyone has ever seen, without a husband and without any children. Maybe I still could. But not seriously. Not in the way I said I would. And I know that you laugh as you say that I’ve thankfully outgrown those childish fantasies, but we’re too similar. You can’t hide the truth (that’s how I know you’re not going to read this, even if you find it and read the first lines). You’re- disappointed is the wrong word. You have complicated feelings about it. It’s fine. So do I. Maybe my daughter will have that privilege.
Thank you for being patient. I’ve looked at the photos from when I was younger. I wanted the reminder of who I was being cruel to. You look so proud of me. And I look like I want to run. But you never made me feel like I was the bad person for taking a bit longer to fall in love with who I am. So even though it took longer than it should have, I want to be like you. I want the pride. I want the joy. I want the love for the things that will never change but that make me who I am. And I’m going to get there. I’m going to learn it. From you. Because you have been teaching me for so long, and I’m finally ready to listen. I love you the only way us two know how to: with all my heartbeats and all my breaths.
Your daughter, still, in spite of everything
Camilla
You’re never going to see this. And even if you somehow did, I’m not sure I can make myself care. I don’t need to be afraid of you anymore. It’s rather funny that it took a fire for me to arrive at this conclusion. But at least I did it.
I do wonder where you are sometimes. A part of me thinks it would be funny to post this letter somewhere. Obviously not the school, although it would be interesting to see what it looks like now. Maybe your parents home? It’s yours now, isn’t it? Would your wife rip the letter up once she saw my name? Or would the son whose results I would have changed for you, because I know, even if you thought I didn’t, bring it to you asking who I am? But the part of me that thinks it would be funny is the part of me I don’t want to listen to. Luckily. For both of us.
Sometimes, I think I hate you as much as I hate myself. But then I remember that you were a product of the same environment. It doesn’t do much to make me less angry. You said you were going to be the older brother I never had. And I really did believe that. I really did think you were going to be like the boys I read about in books. In some ways, you were. But I would have never treated my siblings the way you did. I would not have stood by, and let their lives be destroyed, and refused to raise a finger. I do not think it would have mattered, that I would have lost everything too. I am allowed to be angry about that. And I think I will be angry about it for a long time. Because I never felt it at that time. One day, I will stop being angry about it. But I will not forgive you for it. You do not deserve it, and I will not give it to you.
I didn’t have much to say outside of hating you. It’s strange. I spent so many years owing you for something that should have never happened. I don’t mean you giving me that job. I was more than capable of doing it. I always have been. I meant that I spent all those years working underneath you because you were terrified of what would happen if you said what you wanted to say. You knew I wasn’t wrong. You knew what would happen if I stayed. You didn’t say anything, and then you got what you wanted. You got to keep me under your control. And there is nothing to show for it. How pathetic for you.
You never commented on the way I changed results. I’ve always wondered why. James and Victoria didn’t have loyalty to anyone but each other, so it wouldn’t have mattered to them. Don’t get me wrong. Tristan’s results were almost too perfect. He told us what we wanted to hear, even when it wasn’t supposed to be obvious. Even Adelaide did just enough to be secure in her position. That was the first sign. Some answers were so far from what would have been natural for her. Camilla was unnaturally good for someone raised outside. I wanted to show you her results. They would have been everything to you. But Jonathan’s. Jonathan’s I changed, to keep him safe. And he wasn’t the only one. I know that you know this. Was it cowardice or love that taped your mouth shut? Or are they the same thing in your eyes?
Sometimes I wonder how things would have gone if you hadn’t called me whilst I was at college. I don’t know if I would have come back. I don’t know if I would have lived a normal life. I don’t know if I even want to know. I’m terrified that it would have ended the same way. That I would have called you up asking for a job, knowing that it was never going to be as temporary as I told myself it would be. I want to blame that day. I want to say that something inside me broke, and it changed everything. But I didn’t feel as different as I should have felt. Whatever broke was already broken.
I don’t know how you sleep at night. Not after what we did to all of those children. We can say that we were products of our environment and it wasn’t our fault, but it was. We did things that I cannot even try and describe. How many cycles did we repeat, only for them to be broken by children? Every day I wake up, and I try to understand how you could have let that carry on. Or how I could have contributed.
We don’t deserve closure. I hope you especially, never get it.
Henry
I gave one of these to Mama. And so it only felt right that you got one too. And that’s not to say you were an afterthought, or that I’m only writing one for you you because I wrote one for her. It’s to say whatever I want for her, I want for you as well.
When I was younger (but sometimes even now, although a lot less) I used to want to vanish. Not die. Dying would cause too much grief. But vanish, as though I’d never been here. I thought you would have been happier. And I won’t lie. We’ve done enough of that. You were partially responsible for that. I caught it sometimes. That ingrained need for a son. They say eldest daughters become the eldest sons if there are no more children, and even if there are. But I was an only. I don’t know what I became, but I know it was no eldest. I thought you would be happier because there was always something in the way you looked at me. I wonder now. Was it just that you were scared?
Because- I can’t believe I’m writing this. I don’t know if you remember this. It was so long ago. But I remember it. I’ve never forgotten it. I was a kid. I know you said I’ll always be your baby, but I mean it. I was really a kid. One of your colleagues asked who you would save. If it was me and Mama drowning. I don’t know why. You never invited him again. You said you’d save both of us, and when they told you that you couldn’t, you said you’d find a way. That’s the memory I come back to the most. You weren’t just saying it. You meant it.
I never wanted a love like the one you and Mama have. I hoped that your lives would not become mine. But I did hope that my husband would love our children the way you loved me. A bit better than you, but with the strength. And with the black and white nature. You said that all I ever had to do was be your daughter and that was enough. I didn’t think it would ever be good enough, but it was. You let it be that simple. How? Will I ever achieve that?
And I go to bed later than you think. I heard you talking. About how I am filial. I almost feel bad. That you think that what I am is enough. But then I think about how you said it was an insult to you when I assume how you feel. I get it. I do. But it’s so hard to believe sometimes. And that’s on both of us. You didn’t always say the words. It is possible to love someone without them feeling it. It’s also on me. I’m not a child. And I still haven’t taught you how to say it to me. I guess I still haven’t learnt how to say it to you.
The fathers I write about- the good ones- are you. They always have been. They always will be. I don’t know if you know that, but you should. The bad ones have never been you. They never could be. Because I think you’d rather die than do the things they do. I know I make you upset sometimes. And I know I definitely made you angry before. But you’ve never scared me. Not properly. Not in the way I know you were scared of your own parents.
I hope you know that you did your best. You once had me believe that even my best wasn’t good enough, and I’m not sure I’m over that, but that’s not a message I’m willing to pass on or share. You did your best, and the rest of it matters very little. I promise.
I know that sometimes I take too long to tell you things. I’m trying to get better at sharing as it happens, but it’s really difficult sometimes. I ask myself what you’ll be able to do, and come up empty. I suppose that’s not why you want to know though, is it?
Sometimes, I don’t know how to speak to you. I think this is one of those times. But that’s okay, because you still know what I’m saying. I hope I manage to do the same for you. Being your daughter is still one of the best things that could have happened to me. I will try to stop feeling like it is something I earn.
Your daughter, and no qualifications on that,
Camilla
If I ever send this letter, it was the first one I wrote. I need you to know that. You are, and always have been, the contact that I reach for. No matter what anyone may say about you, I trust that you will always be honest with me. And with the way we were raised- on lies, deception and deceit- that means more to me than I think you will ever know.
I am sorry about your parents, but I expect you have accepted that this was meant to be. They were two people who did not love each other anymore. A divorce was the sensible answer, even if it wasn’t the appropriate one. But then, as you would always say, who decided what was appropriate? Please don’t blame yourself. It was nothing to do with you. And please don’t let Kathy think it was her either. Neither of you should feel like that.
I’m less sorry about what I did. If I had known from the start that I was going to do it like that, I would have warned you. It had been my intention to do it over Christmas. I was going to warn you in a message so I wouldn’t have to watch you panic. I would have, even if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t have told Tristan- don’t worry. But I needed to do it. For all of us. Zahra because she deserved my whole self. I think we’ve always connected in that way. The system was never going to work on us. You are too gentle. And that is not the sin they made you feel like it is. I swear. It has always been your biggest virtue.
We’re okay by the way. She loves me. And I love her. And that is enough. We’re going to work it out. I wish I could show you the mendhi she did for me. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Or maybe it’s actually dreadful. I wouldn’t know. Either way, she had enough love in her blood to sit there and come up with a special design, just for me. I’m not bragging. I’m just trying to comfort you. With the knowledge of what life looks like in a world where Eros Academy does not get to rule who we are.
I’m probably not going to send this. If I do, please do not ask me what this crossed out paragraph says. I don’t think I can repeat it. Not to your face. And I will not be someone who truly lies to you. I think my biggest regret has and always will be not doing something. I should have stepped in. I should have fought them. Mr Carter was never going to pick me. It wouldn’t have mattered if he hated me. I would’ve never been the successor. I could have handled it. I could have destroyed my reputation. I still do not know what happened in that room, but I can guess. I know it won’t be close enough to what happened to compare to how it made you feel. Tristan and I were worried. I don’t know if we showed it well enough. I don’t know if you felt like we abandoned you. We did. In the ways that mattered. Honestly, it’s sadder if you don’t feel like you were abandoned. We weren’t good to you then. Maybe we had never been good to you at all. I don’t want to write about this anymore.
Remember how you used to play piano for us? It was one of those nights, when we were all in that room that was never locked for some weird reason, that I realised what I wanted to do with my life. You made me realise in that moment how lucky I was. You never made our friendship conditional. You never once tried to change me, and you never once believed it was just a phase. Even when I told you I wasn’t sure, you just nodded and said that it’s never too late to learn something new about yourself. It’s the advice I give to all the children that come to us.
I stopped dying my hair as well. My roots have started to come through, so I’ve had some weird looks. But I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to mimic them properly. I want to be myself. Whoever that is, I think it’s the person you always brought out in me. One day I will brave enough to reach out to tell you.
I may give this to you one day. Maybe I’ll leave it with the will so you can’t read it till I’m dead. See- you would have stopped crying to huff about how I was always thinking about my death. Not in a bad way. It’s just the kind of thing adults do when their children stop being children. And you have grown into a wonderful woman who will always be our baby, but you are not a child anymore. It may not seem like it, but I have made my peace with it.
I was inspired to write this because of your book. I may not always understand why they made their decisions, but I did understand why the mother and daughter did not want to communicate through speaking. Your mother thinks it was silly of the daughter to doubt her mother’s love. Does that mean something to you? You did always manage to find inspiration in the silliest places.
You know that I think everything happens for a reason, even if we cannot find it in the moment. Because of that, I’m not ashamed to say that I think the fire was the best thing to ever happen to us. I remember how we fought afterwards, of course. I remember how you wouldn’t even look at candles, and how there were those few moments where we didn’t know what we would do if you followed Tristan. But the fire brought you back to us. Differently, but back to us. And it’s not that you’re that girl anymore. Of course you’re not- you have grown in ways I didn’t think were possible. But you’re something close to her. And whilst you may hate that, it makes me proud. You’ve always made me proud.
I don’t know if you remember this. That’s silly to say. Of course you remember. You are my daughter. You told me once, when we were coming home, that you’re not a filial child. And when I asked you what you meant, you said good. I didn’t believe you, so I looked it up. I wonder how you managed to get ‘good’ from ‘befitting a son or daughter’. If that’s what it means, then you are. I wish you accepted that. If you’ve ever felt like you’re not our child, that’s because of us. Not because of you.
Your writing makes me sad sometimes. You write the pain so beautifully. I didn’t realise how much you were hurting. Did anyone? I like to think I know you. I know your favourite colours, and the fruits you enjoy the most, but then most people do. I know when you’re trying to hide that something hurts. I don’t know how to tell you to stop. I suppose you don’t need me to anymore, though, do you? You’re an adult.
I’m starting to understand why you like writing so much. It’s easier to do this when you’re not in front of me. Is that how you feel? Is that why you write characters so much like the people you know? Who inspires the fathers? I know who must inspire the worst. James Nightingale is a scary man. I don’t know who inspires the best. It cannot be me. They are too good to be me. I am sorry. That I couldn’t be that person for you. There are no excuses. You already know all the explanations. I see it in your face. Whoever it was that inspires the best fathers- not those normal, average ones- I’m happy you had them. I’m happy it’s that kind of man who is the father of your child.
Your mother and I broke many cycles. I understand that now. At the time, it didn’t feel like that. It just felt like parenting. How could either of us tried to hit you, when you were always so much smaller and fragile than us both? I don’t think there will be any left to break once Rani grows up. I think you would have done it all. I hope I’m here to see that.
More importantly, I hope I’m here to see you be vulnerable with us again. I understand we lost the privileges so many times over. I don’t expect them to be returned. Especially not to me- mothers and daughters are different. But if you choose to give that to us again, I’m better now. I promise. And if you don’t, that’s okay too. You’re always going to be my daughter, and I will always be grateful for that.
Even though I don’t always say it, I love you more than anything
Baba
