My Penpal Novels & Stories

Unable to resist, she raised her hand and poked him, saying, "What are we doing?" Aidan looked at her and said, "What do you think it counts as?" She thought carefully and said, "Pen pal?" Aidan was taken aback by her response. "Are you serious?" "Could they be boyfriend and girlfriend?" "...Then let's be friends with benefits." Anyway, he was also worried about this problem.

I sighed, placing the coffee mug on the table and leaning my head back, staring out of the window and my mind took me into memory lane, 8 years back. I was a teenager then and still deciding on what to do with my future. Among the few friends I had during school, I had one friend that many didn’t know of. A pen pal. We had never physically met but occasionally talked on this app where we could connect with people of similar interests. Sometimes it’s easier to share your emotions with people you don’t know personally, with people you have never met because you aren’t scared that they might judge you. And even if they do, you don’t care much because it’s just a stranger.

If there is such a thing as boys being nice, I take my pen and paper and begin writing my semi-best letter in hopes it's readable. Dear max, I am glad I got you as a pen pal. Hopefully, you'll be a good friend one day, and I can learn a little bit about New York and the things you like to do there or your favourite hobbies and foods. My teacher assigned us to our pen pal, and I have never had a pen pal before, so it will be nice to have someone to write a letter to each month, luckily for you, I am your pen pal, so here is a little bit about me.

Dear Pen pal, Hello. My name is Wesley. I am 12 years old, and I am in 6th grade at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California. I’ll be honest, I am only writing this letter because my teacher said we have to. She said if we don’t, we’ll get an F, and I am not about to fail an assignment and ruin my track record of perfect grades. Plus, my dad would probably ground me or something. Anyway, I don’t really want a pen pal. I have friends here at school already, so why would I need to make friends with somebody who doesn’t even live here, someone who I’ll never actually meet?

“Dear Pen Pal, Hello. My name is Wesley. I am twelve years old, and I am in sixth grade at Crescent Lake Elementary in Northern California. I’ll be honest, I am only writing this letter because my teacher said we have to. She said if we don’t, we’ll get an F, and I am not about to fail an assignment and ruin my track record of perfect grades. Plus, my dad would probably ground me or something. Anyway, I don’t really want a pen pal. I have friends here at school already, so why would I need to become friends with somebody who doesn’t even live here, someone I’ll never actually meet?…”

“Yeah. I mean—sure. Why not?” I smiled faintly, lowered my gaze to the paper, and began to read aloud: Hi Rose! Don’t ask how I know your name. I’ve actually known you for a while, but I’ve always been too shy and scared to come up to you. I’d really like to be your friend—or maybe even your best pen pal. I also sent gifts to make you happy. Just drop a response into the mailbox so I can see your reply. Much love, from Little Anonymous.

I made one last trip home and took with me a box that had long been gathering dust. It was filled with letters. They were from a pen pal I'd met online during my first year living with the Finch family. Back then, I was living under someone else's roof. I was sensitive, withdrawn, and deeply insecure. My pen pal was a boy I had never met, whose warm and thoughtful words gradually melted the chill of my loneliness. We exchanged letters for an entire year, sharing everything—our happiness, sorrow, frustrations, and hopes.

It was a mundane Afterall, their small brains needed silence to comprehend, and there I sat, amidst the loud beats of their frail hearts and lousy inhalations. "Oh, gotta run. I guess I'd see you later then, I appreciate your help. Thank you so much." "You're welcome." She opened her purse in search of something, then she brought out a pen. "Somehow, I ended up with a pen and no paper. Do you have any books with you?" I nodded. "Stretch out your palm." She said and I did. What I didn't expect was for her to scribble a phone number on it. "See...I want to be friends with you but I'm not sure you want that. That's why I'm giving out my contact information to you so when you reach out I'd be su

Sierra asked me. “No, it sounds nice.” I replied, surprised she thought of this. “Great!,” Sierra said exited. “I’ve always wanted a pen pal.” Sierra gave me a hug, “well, good luck and I’ll see you afterwards.” I wish the hug lasted longer, she smelled so good. See, this is why it would be good for me if she was gone for a while. I just hoped the saying, ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder,’ wasn’t true.

Another reason why we never actually went along that well. "Well, here is one for you." Mom gave me a pointed look as she took out one white envelope and passed it to me. "Don't tell me you're writing to that pen pal again." I was a bit taken aback as I took it from her hands and stared down at the white folded paper. I never received any such mails, even the school ones were usually sent as emails. And of course, I wasn't writing to my pen pal again. That happened when I was just eight. Mom somehow seemed to forget that.