I canāt help but smile at the words in her letter. She misses me.
In fifth grade, my teacher set us up with pen pals from a different school. Thinking I was a girl, with a name like Misha, the other teacher paired me up with her student, Ryen. My teacher, believing Ryen was a boy like me, agreed.
It didnāt take long for us to figure out the mistake. And in no time at all, we were arguing about everything. The best take-out pizza. Android vs. iPhone. Whether or not Eminem is the greatest rapper everā¦
And that was the start. For the next seven years, it was us.
Her letters are always on black paper with silver writing. Sometimes thereās one a week or three in a day, but I need them. Sheās the only one who keeps me on track, talks me down, and accepts everything I am.
We only had three rules. No social media, no phone numbers, no pictures. We had a good thing going. Why ruin it?
Until I run across a photo of a girl online. Nameās Ryen, loves Galloās pizza, and worships her iPhone. What are the chances?
F*ck it. I need to meet her.
I just donāt expect to hate what I find.
Ryen
He hasnāt written in three months. Somethingās wrong. Did he die? Get arrested? Knowing Misha, neither would be a stretch.
Without him around, Iām going crazy. I need to know someone is listening. Itās my own fault. I should've gotten his number or picture or something.
He could be gone forever.
Or right under my nose, and I wouldnāt even know it.
