Chapter Thirteen

Why would a person say that he hoped you would find a pen pal soon after you told him that you could never find one, when he is someone who is able to fill that role himself? Especially when he knows how fond of journaling you are from the years you've spent knowing each other? And even more so when he's told you that he's also a fan of not overusing electronics, and often prefers to use a pen and paper?

Was he playing mind games with her?

But wait, just because he loved using a pen and paper, did not mean that he was a fan of letter writing. Besides, he could be a very busy person, and lacked the time to do stuff like that.

Was he going to ask her if he could exchange letters with her soon, or would that just be a fleeting dream of hers? It wasn't that he absolutely had to be that person. She wouldn't have minded anyone, really. But if he were that person, how great it would be! She didn't know a person who treated her more tenderly, and apart from her parents, he was close to a second father figure to her. He treated her like she was his own daughter, and she knew he wouldn't have minded if she asked him to become her pen pal.

But how would she go about asking that of him? Hello, great weather today. Will you be my pen pal? Like that? No, that method was so stupid! She worked at his school, and met him often. She could send him an email. Hey boss, how about exchanging handwritten letters with me? Was that even appropriate? In what world was exchanging handwritten letters appropriate with your boss? Or with someone who was your boyfriend's father?

But as much as she knew it was a bit weird for her to be doing that, she wanted it to happen. Keanu was a fascinating person, because she had never come across another man besides her father who was as kind-hearted and empathetic. If anything, he was her best friend. If you asked her, she would rather spend the day with him than with any of her other friends.

She turned onto her stomach in her bed after she spent way too long glaring at the ceiling thinking hard about the same things over and over again. Covering her face in her pillow, she shouted into it in frustration.

What do you really want?

The thought pressed against her mind and she shot from her bed. She needed to think about something else, something that wasn't related to Keanu. She left her bedroom, and began to take out the trash. As she was bringing them to the enormous trash bin near her lawn, she saw a deliveryman on a bicycle riding past her place. She stared after him, deep in thought.

Then she went over to the mailbox and opened it. She removed the stack of letters that was newly inserted inside and flipped through them. They were bills, pointless letters from banks telling you that you changed your particulars, and flyers from real estate agents. But as she continued flipping, her hands froze when she got to the bottom of the stack.

In a Kraft envelope was her name written over it. The ink was distinctly water-based, given that it had fading qualities and parts of the letters varied in hues. It was clearly written with a fountain pen. She turned the letter over and saw a wax seal fastening the closure. Intrigued, she stuck everything except that back into the mailbox and returned to her bedroom with the letter.

Taking her letter opener, she broke the wax seal and took the letter inside out. There were several papers inside with neat script written on them. Her heart raced as she read the entire letter, until she had finished reading it multiple times. It read:

Dear Alice,

When you told me that you loved letter writing but did not have a pen pal, the first thought that crossed my mind was to ask you if you would mind if I became yours. I didn't know why, but I stopped myself from asking you that question. When I came back home, I couldn't stop thinking about what happened earlier and I ended up having a sleepless night later.

You often tell me that you love journaling, and I share that interest with you, though I suppose my journals are a lot less pink than yours are. I have had many pen pals before in the past and through the night, I wondered what it was like to write letters to yourself, hoping that you had one. But most of all, I wondered about why you didn't ask me to write you a letter since you were looking for one. I couldn't tell if you were just sharing and was actually against the idea of exchanging letters with me, or if you wanted it to happen.

So I guess I'm taking a leap of faith when I send you this letter. Like you, I love letter writing. It reminds me of much simpler times, before everything was digitised. I have many journals that I own to keep track of work and other commitments, but I cherish my personal one the most because I can pour my private thoughts onto paper. It is my therapy, as I'm sure you understand.

But as time went on, I began to feel lonely whenever I spent the time to journal. I felt like I wanted human interaction as well. That led me to find a pen pal and I discovered a new hobby there. Exchanging letters is truly a wonderful hobby for people who journal since you're able to journal normally, but it's as if your journal is talking back to you. I'm not sure if you would feel the same way, but let's find out.

Regards,

Keanu

Returning the letter to the envelope, she put it aside next to her pillow and rested on her back, staring at the ceiling again. She repeated his words over and over in her head, and her lips widened into an uncontrollable smile.