Pen Pal Story Novels & Stories

"Over a pen..." Esther retrieved her phone and handed the teacher a photo of the pen, casually stating, "This pen was a gift for Felix when he started school. It's a limited edition, one-of-a-kind, made of platinum and adorned with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. It features 840 diamonds totaling over 20 carats." Having never encountered such a pen before, Megan promptly denied its existence, exclaiming, "That's impossible! Don't try to deceive me with some street stall item!"

I had lived in that manor long enough to know the eccentricities of the Vitale heir. Damon Enzo Vitale loathed ink pens; he found them messy and inefficient. He used hard ballpoints, ordering them by the box every few months so he never had to worry about a leak or a refill. I, on the other hand, had been obsessed with that specific fountain pen. I loved the ritual of refilling it, the way the nib scratched against the paper. I’d used it every day for five years until it vanished into thin air one afternoon during my senior year.

He held it out like a peace offering. “I figured you’d want this.” He placed it gently on the side table, then leaned forward to help guide my hand. His fingers were careful, respectful, adjusting mine around the pen like I was made of glass. My hand trembled violently. The pen slipped once, twice, but I didn’t let go. It took effort. My muscles screamed. My fingers curled like claws. But after what felt like an eternity, I managed to scribble one crooked word across the paper. Update?

" A pen pal? Letter writing was rare in today's world, but pen pals still existed. By sharing all of their deepest thoughts through letters without ever meeting, it would create a connection that texts and emails could never replicate. "She's been writing to this person for ten years. They've never met or looked into each other's background, but their bond runs deep. Once she's had time to process everything, it might help your chances if you could get this pen pal to put in a good word for you." Felix was not about to pass up this opportunity. He truly loved Xena, and letting things end this way was not something a real man would do.

First Vance and Kathy go to Freya's penthouse then Davis and I go. "So are you ready?" Davis asks as we get on the elevator. "For stealing? I don't know." I say. "Well in the past, you stole that pen from Maddie in college." Davis says. "That was a wrong rumour. It was my pen to begin with. I let her borrow it during the exam and it is my lucky pen. It was also my Mom's gift to me when I started writing with a pen in school. It has my initials on it too. I was never letting that go just like that. Do you know how much I have to think to keep the pen hidden in case she comes to take it?" I say.

Inventing the story as he turned each page. The fox. The bird. The mountain. The stars. By the time he reached the final page... Peanut was smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. "Again." Thomas laughed. "We just finished." "Again." He looked at Elena helplessly. She covered her smile with one hand. "I think you've lost." Honestly? He had. Fair. Very fair. Reasonable actually. So he began again. This time changing the story. Making the fox even more stubborn. Making the bird even braver.

Patrick had arranged many yachts there with which guests attending his wedding could go to his island. In the evening, I sat in front of a writing desk. I took out a pen and paper. Upon deliberation, I hadn't written anything with a pen for a long time. I used to write something on my computer or my cell phone. Writing a letter had become a matter of the last century. I looked at the paper in front of me, thinking about how to narrate that story in words. At first, I narrated a quite, quite long story. However, in the middle of it, I found myself ridiculous.

The world had begun shining a light in its direction. Michael slowly walked to one of the shelves and removed a small wooden box. He opened it carefully. Inside lay an old fountain pen. Its black lacquer had faded with age, but it remained beautifully preserved. Amara smiled. "Magnus' pen." Michael nodded. "He wrote every journal with this." Samuel looked at him curiously. "Why keep it?" Michael held the pen thoughtfully. "Because every generation believes history is changed by weapons." He looked at the pen in his hand.

Matthew asked, amazement visible on his face as he leered at Jack. It was something that he'd wanted. He remembered that he and Jack were in his office on the site waiting for the release, but before he could even buy it, it was already sold! He can't believe how lucky Damon Williams was to have that pen. There were only 99 of those pens in different styles made, not to mention it costing over 20k alone because of how high in demand they were and made from solid gold and diamond.

We were all afraid of that pen because we knew what the fucking pen represented, and there was only one thing it meant. It meant blood. The room was so silent that you could hear a pin drop, and it was getting oppressive with every step that my mom took. She pressed the head of the pen, and the sound echoed in my ears, tracing back to those days; the pen was a nightmare on its own. I would rather tell someone to put a gun in my head than use that pen on me if they had asked me this question when I was little. I knew it was going into someone today, but who would that be? Was I ready to take that pen for Gina, the pain?