Tell me before I find out. Do not parade whispers in front of others as though they are secrets meant for me. Do not think you can bypass me with subtleties or half-truths. I am not deaf. I am not blind.

I may look naive. I may appear innocent. That, my dear, is a rare defense mechanism. A shield disguised as vulnerability. A mask worn to measure the world before I choose to reveal my own teeth.

Fool me once, and I remember. Fool me twice, and I remember even more. Betrayal leaves marks—on memory, on trust, on the way I let the light of my soul shine. And once those marks are made, they do not fade.

I am patient. I am careful. I watch, I listen, I sense. And yet, people persist as if appearances matter more than truth. They whisper, they manipulate, they scheme—forgetting that I am always the observer.

I am not naive. I am not helpless. I am not the child you can mislead with sweet lies and false assurances. I am a storm contained, a quiet power, and a heart that remembers every detail.

Tell me first. Let me measure your intentions, let me see your hand. Do not allow your words to reach the ears of others before they reach mine. I will not be blind-sided. I will not be toyed with.

Once I see the deception, I withdraw. Once I sense the betrayal, the door closes. The trust you sought to exploit is gone, locked away, guarded like treasure in a vault that no key can touch.

I forgive, rarely. I forget, never. There is elegance in the patience of my judgment. I sip quietly, I wait, I watch as your illusions unravel, knowing fully that the truth always arrives, even when you think it hides.

Do not underestimate the simplicity of my innocence. It is not weakness. It is strategy. It is armor. It is the lens through which I filter the world and the people who attempt to manipulate it.

I notice. I catalog. I understand. The games you play, the whispers you spread—they are as transparent as glass. And when the mirror finally turns toward you, you will see yourself as I always have.

Tell me first. Respect me enough to offer truth before rumors reach my ears. Because once the deception passes my threshold, once it touches my senses before your confession, your credibility is gone forever.

Do not mistake my quiet for ignorance. My stillness for naivety. My gaze for passivity. I am neither idle nor naive. I am deliberate, and I act when the time is right, with precision and inevitability.

I forgive when it is genuine, not when it is convenient. I trust when it is earned, not when it is demanded. I invest only in those who choose honesty over theatrics, integrity over ego.

And you, who thinks you can bypass me, who thinks your whispers or manipulations can sway me—you miscalculate. Every lie, every half-truth, every omission is recorded in the ledger of my mind.

I do not need to act immediately. I do not need to confront. I wait, I observe, I allow your actions to speak louder than your words. And when the moment arrives, the consequences are absolute.

I may appear soft, innocent, untouchable—but do not mistake it for weakness. It is the stillness before a storm, the calm that precedes the unyielding wave. And waves are relentless.

Tell me first. Give me the courtesy of truth, even when it is inconvenient. Because once the veil is torn, once the betrayal is unveiled, the trust you squandered cannot be restored.

I am careful. I am observant. I am unyielding. I hold space for those who are worthy, but the unworthy find only closed doors and impenetrable walls.

So speak, reveal, confess, before I find out. Do not let others carry your story to me first, for once that threshold is crossed, the game changes. And I do not play games twice.

I am vigilant. I am patient. I am exacting. I am not naive. I am not defenseless. I am the storm you never saw coming, the wall you could never scale, the judgment you cannot escape.

Tell me first. Or do not speak at all. Because once the truth reaches me without your guidance, the door closes forever—and it will not open again.