Pen Pal Story Novels & Stories

He looks up from the thick stack of papers he’s going through, “What? I’m almost done, I swear,” I finally look at him, he’s chewing at the end of his pen, a white one I gave him from the clinic. One night, he needed something to jot down our pad Thai order outside a shop, and I handed him one I had accidentally stolen from when I was filling out intake forms. He’s been carrying it for over a month now. When I imagine him grading papers and planning out his ideas with my plastic pen, my heart aches. These minuscule details somehow keep me hoping that he’ll stay with me forever.

I smiled at him as he handed me the new pen, and inspected it as I brought it closer to my view. “The design is similar to the used pen, huh?” I asked. “Indeed.” Taylor nodded. “It is quite a high-quality pen, bought from Bivorak Company.” I raised an eyebrow. “High quality?” Taylor cleared his throat. “That one in your hands, My Lord. Can last for several years with consistent ink filling. The pen that you just discarded have lasted two to three years actually.” “Oh.” I pursed my lips. Obviously, I won’t remember it. I am not Lancelot, and I rarely use a pen that needs ink filling back in my previous world. But to have a pen that can be filled up with ink, huh? That sounds really useful.

Garfield picked up his pen from his school polo shirt, “My scythe pen!” K Whatever tilted her head, “You’re joking, right?” Garfield demonstrated his ability with the pen as he dance in the night with the moonlights gives light to him. The tip of the pen shines bright every movement he made, “This silver pen may be small but it is easy to camouflage with and can slice human in half! What more ghost?” He sneered. Looking at the cartoon character kiddie size she was holding, K Whatever nodded, “Yeah, you’re design was also reasonable, unlike mine.”

Author’s pov Lucas sat in his office, his long blue sleeves neatly folded at the ends. He occupied his usual spot on the tenth floor, surrounded by documents waiting for his signature. Each time he glanced at the name engraved on his pen, a deep breath escaped him. It bore the name of his ex-wife, Sweet Aurora. He had arranged for the pen to be customized with her name when he signed a contract with the pen supplier four years ago, a gesture of affection he once held for her.

I guess this somehow brought us together. I remember the day we met. We were leaving Physics I, when I felt a finger tipping my shoulder. I turned myself and saw a straight, golden hair (the kind that was naturally sun-burned and not chemically applied at a fancy salon), and a huge smile showing perfectly white teeth. The owner of such enviable hair reached out her hand in my direction, holding a feathery pink flamingo pen. "It's yours". Of course, of course it was mine. My favorite, indeed. The thing was that, losing pens was my trait. Let them fall, let them disappear, let them be sucked by black holes and travel through galaxies far, far away. Not only pens, but everything, truthfully. Ke

Milo comments. I roll my eyes and dip a cookie in milk. Milo fake gagged and walked out of the office. “And to celebrate this day. I got you something.” She said pulling a parcel from her drawer. It's a rectangular, small pink box wrapped up in the ribbons. I gingerly collect it and i see that it is a fountain pen. “It’s.. a pen.” I say when I don't find an adjective to describe it. She laughs, “Yeah. It's my lucky pen. I use it for all of my exams when I was getting my masters degree. And I passed all of them in flying colours “

“Either way, we have a pen that scares me more than anything else I’ve read about here yet.” “I guess it would make an excellent stealth weapon. Who would expect a pen to be the weapon?” Damon took stock of what everyone was doing as they spoke. There wasn’t a single person in the room not working on this in some fashion. They lined the boxes up against a wall, and Damon figured at this rate they’d get through it within two to three days. Because they didn’t know what they were looking for or where it was.

Only the star is left to be placed. I want to have a wolf like momma and daddy. Can you please give me one? Momma said that I need to wait until I am 18. I am fine with that, but I want a pretty wolf like momma’s. You know, the shiny, goldy, goldy one. So please give me a shiny wolf when I turn 18. Your best friend Hope Alright! I looked at my writing. I have written it with my red pen that has Santi’s hat made on top of it. I like Santi’s hat, that's why I asked for this pen.

He let out a long, lazy sigh, as if already exhausted by the thought of the afternoon ahead. ***** I was already in the guidance office on the third floor, waiting for Finlay’s mother. My fingers fidgeted restlessly with the nearly-empty G-Tech pen Molly gifted me last Christmas break. I teased her back then, calling it a “common, last-minute present,” but truth be told, I appreciated the thoughtfulness more than I let on. The pen was nearly out of ink now, just like my patience. The second hand of the wall clock above the door clicked louder with every sweep, marking nearly thirty minutes of waiting—time slipping away like the fading streak of blue from my pen.

Holden draped a cashmere coat over my shoulders: "I've booked the revolving restaurant. Let's celebrate." The private room offered a panoramic city view. Holden raised his wine glass, then produced letters bound with red string. "A surprise. Open them." The envelope's faded fountain pen writing bore an "M" in the corner that made my breath catch. "Letters you wrote to your pen pal Z in high school," Holden said quietly. "Forty-three in total. I kept every one."