Penpal Story Novels & Stories

I put an arm on the table and keep watching in silence. "I wasn't gossiping, Suzy. It's just that Lop wanted me to tell stories for her to sleep. And I don't know how to tell children's stories and things like that. So I told you the real stories I know.” “Lop? "I emphasize, arching my eyebrow. Holy God, even exclusive nicknames they already have. I feel a sudden need to laugh. Penelope touches my arm and leans lightly as if to tell a secret, the movement makes the mask on the table roll to the side.

Mine hadn't faded just yet. “Days of nonstop coffee and all nighters can do that,” i quipped, “I’m sick of it,” “You recall that you're in a Cafe, right?” Penelope huffed, rolling her eyes, “Don't mind me, this is my new lifeblood for the next few years,” Julienne said and Penelope chuckled in response. I smiled as I saw the genuine interest in her eyes. This was unexpected but even if the initial meeting was strange, this outcome was worth it.

The rain had stopped by the time we returned home and the house smelled like rosemary and burnt sugar. I told Matteo I was afraid that peace would make me soft then he said, “Soft doesn’t mean weak. It just means you survived long enough to stop clenching your fists.” Ididn’t respond but I didn’t disagree. Elias got a penpal,through school. A girl in Ireland,she loved foxes and hated soup. He wrote to her once every week and asked questions like “What does silence sound like where you are?” And she responded with poem which he taped one to the fridge.

About The Author The author is a Bicolano who hails from Binanuhan, Pilar, Sorsogon. Having lived half of his lifetime in the same locality, he devoted most of his time to learning practical things through observations and several failed attempts. Because of his ardent desire and persistence to harness, develop and maximize everything that he has to its fullest potential, he was able to achieve a certain level of mastery on matters which is of prime significance. He is passionate about a lot of things. He is simultaneously a carpenter, composer, inventor, mathematician, choir and acoustic band member, frequent user of Microsoft Excel and Google Sheets to solve work – related problems and, w

“Lorenzo... Rom—” Before I can finish, a small voice pipes up from behind me. “That’s me.” I turn and find a boy standing by the hallway, holding a sketchpad. His dark brown eyes study me curiously, his hair tousled like he’s just woken up from a nap. He’s probably around six or seven. I smile gently. “Hi, Bryan. I’m Penelope.” He shuffles closer, still clutching his sketchpad. “Are you the girl who makes pretty necklaces?”

"I really should get going.." "I just want to talk. I'll make it quick. We can go anywhere you want."I was practically on the verge of begging and I think she liked it. She liked having me at her mercy. Only she could ever have it that way. With hands in my pockets I walked alongside her, but her attention has been on the sea creatures behind the glass since we set foot inside the aquarium."The aquarium. I thought maybe a coffee shop.. But never here." "I like it here. Penelope and I come here most weekends. She likes the fish.. Well all animals actually."

“Were they really pen pals?” “Yep,” Nolan and I answer at the same time. “How’d you hear about that?” I add, my eyes flicking down to where her hand no longer lays. “Everyone in our pack talks about it,” Blake said. “Amber Forest, too. It was the story during my senior year of high school. The elementary school pen pals who ended up being mates after writing to each other their entire childhood.” I shake my head and press my lips together. “Not their entire childhood.”

"After we talked about what I wanted to be as a kid. I can't be a veterinarian, but I can do something meaningful so I read to kids." "Timothy," Penelope says softly. "That's actually really sweet." "Want to help?" I ask. "We could read together." She agrees. We spend the next two hours reading picture books to a group of wolf pups whose parents are working. Penelope is amazing with them, patient and funny and kind. Watching her with those kids, I see our future. Children of our own someday. "That was fun," Penelope says as we're leaving. "Can I come back next week?"

I didn’t tell your cousin I was writing to you, but I’m fine with you telling her if you want Anyways, have a good one, Miranda Well, that is not exactly what I was expecting. Someone actually wants to talk to me? To be my penpal? I can't help but wonder what is wrong with this chick, writing to an inmate. She’s probably butt ugly or has no arms. Well, I know she has at least one arm, the letter is handwritten. Over the last nine years, I have had a couple other people write to me, but they were mostly people from churches and they were more interested in talking about their religion than actually getting to know me or letting me get to know them. “What's it say?” Shotgun asks, breaking my

“Last year, our book club was a flop—too many kids didn’t want to do their assigned reading, feeling like it was too much like work.” Alanna turned to me then. “Thoughts, Luna Hannah?” Suddenly, my eyes widened slightly, and once again, I was transported back to those two years that Noah had conveniently forgotten—the two years that I had written until my hand cramped, my fingers stained with ink. “What about… a penpal program?” I breathed before I could stop myself. The other Lunas murmured and nodded in agreement, jotting the idea down in their notebooks. They were oblivious to my emotional strife—all except for Alanna, who seemed to eye me for a moment before suddenly closing her notebook