By the end of class, every student had a journal.
They were all the same—plain, spiral-bound notebooks with white covers. No designs, no stickers, just a blank space to write and a small number scribbled in pencil on the inside corner. Amira's notebook had a "7" in the top-right corner. She didn't know what it meant, and Mrs. Carter didn't explain. She just said the pairings were random.
"You'll write the first letter today," Mrs. Carter instructed. "Tell your partner about your day. Or your thoughts. Or even what you had for breakfast. Just… be honest. Write like no one's watching."
Jayden, sitting a few seats behind Amira, leaned toward his friend and whispered something that made them both laugh. She didn't turn around. But she felt it. That invisible pull toward him—like his voice always found its way to her ears whether she wanted it to or not.
She opened the journal slowly. The first page looked too clean, too wide. But then, like always, her pencil moved before her mind could catch up.
" Hi,
I don't know who you are, and maybe that's the best part. It's easier to write when no one's looking at you. Don't you think?
Today feels like every other day, but I guess now we're both part of something a little strange together. So here's something about me: I like words more than people sometimes. I write poems, but I never show them to anyone. And I sit by the window because I like watching things that don't ask questions.
I hope you don't mind quiet.
— Your anonymous partner"
She stared at it for a few seconds, then closed the journal before she could second-guess herself. Her heart raced, but it wasn't fear—it was something else.Hope.
The next day, the journals were collected.
Amira couldn't stop thinking about hers. Who would read it? Would they write back? Would they laugh?
When she came into class that Thursday morning, her journal was back on her desk. Same notebook. But this time, when she opened it, there was someone else's handwriting on the next page.
"Hey there,
So I guess I'm your mystery partner. I won't lie—I didn't want to do this at first. Writing letters in 2025? I mean, come on.
But… your letter? It felt different. Honest. Real.
You said you like quiet. I'm usually the opposite. But maybe we're not that different. I don't show people the real stuff either.
I don't write poems, but I like how you write yours.
— Me (whoever I am)"
Amira smiled.
It was beginning.