The cool air conditioner brushes the tops of my shoulders, as I sit in the far left corner of the classroom reading a sign that says: “I get psyched for psychology”. My AP psychology teacher, Mr. Tate, drones on about some profound information on the human brain I suppose- I was not focused on what he was talking about. Usually I enjoy this class but lately I feel like my body is just going through the motions. 

“Strangers…they are just forms of future friends, family members, or maybe even lovers. When we analyze the behaviors of the brain, it is noticed that someone’s true character comes out when you get to know a stranger. This random person that you get to know knows nothing about who you are, and it is through this that your true behaviors shine through. There is nothing to conceal or hide…So I’m assigning a project worth 20% of your final grade. Do take this seriously because…drum roll please”, Mr. Tate builds anticipation by beating on his dark wood desk, “ Each of you will receive a pen-pal to get to know over the course of 3 weeks, and you will write a report on your findings” 

Most of the students around me groan, some get excited, but my body stills at the thought of it. I don’t know whether to be happy, or scared because I can’t hold a conversation with someone my age for longer than 2 sentences.

***

Since school, my mind has been pondering on the contents written in the letter Mr. Tate handed me-a teenage boy my age, named Benedict, is my pen-pal. I think that name is quite odd for anyone under the age of 65, but who am I to judge? The letter is simple and generic- knowing that Benedict didn’t know who he would be writing to. From what I can tell he seems kind, and a bit awkward. So far he seems interesting enough to hold a conversation with. He describes himself as 6’1, dark messy curls, and hazel almost green eyes. From this information I picture someone handsome with gentle eyes. But I can’t tell if he’s trying to flex his height by including it, or if he's lying like 98% of the male population.

Excited to learn more about Benedict- His name will never stop humoring me- I start writing a letter back with basic information about myself. I start with some likes and dislikes, and why I have to get to know him. I describe myself to him in vague detail- 5’7, long black box braids hair, and brown eyes. I also add in my phone number so we can communicate faster, and one thing that I change about myself is my name. I tell “Benedict” that my name is Vivienne because there is no way someone my age is named Benedict.

***

I sent the letter 3 days ago and I feel like he should've gotten it by now. Maybe I weirded him out, maybe he thinks I’m boring, or maybe he just doesn’t like me. I think about this for a while until I get a text message from an unknown contact.

Unknown: Hey this is Benedict

Vivienne: Hello this is Vivienne

Benedict: How are you doing Vivi?

Vivienne: Vivi? 

Benedict: So Vivi isn’t it?

Vivienne: not really Benny

Benedict: hahaha yeah let’s just go by our full names for now

Vivienne: haha yeah, I think that’s best for now.

Benedict: Don’t worry we’ll work on nicknames later

I find myself smiling at the text for a few minutes after it was delivered to me.

***

Conversation between Benedict and I flowed so easily, we were constantly texting and I feel like he is one of my closest friends. At first it might have felt strained, but soon enough I felt like the mysterious Benedict was a new part of my life. There was never an awkward moment, and it was so easy to open up to him.

“Who’s got you smiling like a fool?” My dad shouts from the kitchen while stirring something in a pot.

“It’s no one dad. Stop being so nosy.” I say jokingly from the couch.

“It doesn't look like no one.” He says skeptically.

“Ok fine, it’s my friend Benedict. He’s my pen-pal for a school project”, I explained to my dad.

“Benedict…I see how old..”

“Dad, stop, there is no need for an interrogation. He’s my age, he’s  kind, he doesn’t do drugs, and he is just my friend” I interrupted. My face grew hot with all the questions.

“Ok, ok, well I’m glad you’ve found a friend other than Lola.” My dad says sincerely.

Before Benedict, my dad was my closest friend. Even before my mom passed away we’ve always shared a bond, and I tell him everything. Things have been hard since the accident, and for once in a long time I feel like I’m actually living. Benedict has brought something to look forward to, and I have someone to talk to other than my father and Lola-even though they're both great.

***

Benedict: Call me

My heart skipped a beat at this unfamiliar text.

Vivienne:??

Benedict: Voice call me

Vivienne: Ok…give me a sec

Benedict: Take your time

I know we’re just talking over the phone but I start pacing around my room. What if he thinks I sound weird? What if we only work over text and not calls? My head is spinning with ideas, but I push them all away and press call. My phone rings 3 times in my silent room, and my palms start to sweat.

“Hey Vivienne”, Benedict’s voice is oddly awkward and masculine. These 2 words traveled from his voice to my phone and broke a smile across my face. I like the way my name rolls off his tongue- or my code name.

“Um…Benedict”, there is a shakiness in my voice, “Hello Benedict, how are you doing?” I ask.

Gosh he probably thinks I’m so weird.

“Great now that I’m hearing your voice for the first time”

Heat rushes to my face at the small flirtatious gesture, even though he was probably just kidding.

“Well it’s nice to hear you're not a random 75 year old man”, I joke.

“I see the name Benedict perplexes you, but I promise playing solitaire is the only old thing I do”, Benedict responds.

I laugh at this thought and tell him about my past theories on his names. Our words connect, and flow in endless talk about all sorts of things.

“Hey, have you ever read “Delirium”?” The words slip out of my mouth before I’ve noticed. It’s been about an hour on the call, and I’m propped up against my head board looking at the colorful book spines on my shelf.

“No, is it any good?”Benedict asks, in a genuine tone, that ebbs me to continue.

“Well it's-” I stutter between my words, “ It’s a romance novel that just speaks to me, I read it first when I was about 12. Ever since then I sorta fell in love with reading, and it makes me believe in true love” 

“Well maybe I should read it sometime” Benedict sincerely says.

“I mean it's not some Shakespearean tale of great tragedies and romances, but it means something to me” I explain in all honesty.

“If it means something to you, then it’s something to me. I can tell you have a brilliant mind, and a beautiful heart” Benedict slowly drawls out.

The truthfulness in that compliment brings flutters to my chest, and shocks me. “Benedict…that might be…the nicest thing a person has ever told me” I shyly respond.

“You might be the nicest person I’ve met”

I roll my eyes as I feel myself falling for every flirtatious remark coming out of his mouth.

***

Our almost flirtatious banter continued for hours, until Benedict said it had gotten too late. I Didn’t notice that the seconds flowed into minutes, and minutes into hours. In bed that night I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things we had discussed. He made me feel special and comfortable- and the last time I had any sort of relationship with a boy was 6th grade chorus, when I had to hold hands with Connor Adams- but things with Benedict just felt…natural.

***

“Omg, no he didn’t!” My friend Lola squeals from the other side of the table. Lola has been my best friend  for as long as I can remember. Even when I pushed everyone out of my life after my mom died, she somehow never left my side, and through thick and thin we are there for each other.

“It’s no big deal Lo.” I pause slightly, “But I don't know, I kinda like him.”  Lola and I smile at each other, while obviously fan-girling over this man.

“Okay but, after what I’ve heard and those texts I read he definitely wants you. Like he's really down bad for you”. Lola exaggerates.

I pick up my hot chocolate from our small circular table and take a sip, “Don’t be extra Lo, I don’t know anything. This is just a school project.”

“I know but, I haven’t seen you this happy about much since…you know…and I am glad to see it. Just don’t fall too hard or too fast for a boy you might never get to meet. Just be careful.” She says this as she reaches over to give my hand 2 quick squeezes. 

***

Late night talks and conversations over text between Benedict and I occurred more oftenly. Every bit of free time we had, we took advantage of. Everything with him seemed easy, and for some reason he was a constant thought in my mind. He made me laugh harder than I thought I could, he listened to me for hours, and every time his name popped up on my screen a smile split my face. I don’t think I’ve ever been in love and I don’t exactly know what it should feel like, but if I could amount it to something  it would be whatever I have with Benedict.

I sometimes forget that the only reason I have this gift of Benedict is because of my school project-I’ve always enjoyed psychology. I always try to keep a mental checklist of what I want to include about Benedict in my paper: There are some general things about him like how he  is always sarcastic, he is the oldest sibling of 2, and playing guitar is his favorite pastime. Below the surface there are other things that have slowly started to seep through: When he laughs really hard he grows almost silent, he can be really quiet but when he gets passionate on a topic he could rant for hours, and how he’s perfected a posh british accent so when his 5 year old sister hosts tea parties he can make her happy.                                                                   

***

I woke up this morning planning to stop by my favorite bookstore by 10:30. I decided to pamper myself, I wore my favorite light-wash jeans, a sage green top, and high top white converse. I pull the top half of my braids and let the rest trail down my back. I do a touch of light makeup, and feel giddy when I see a message from Benedict light up my screen. I walk downstairs and prepare a cup of iced coffee, and avocado toast.

My dad shuffled into the kitchen from his office with a steaming cup of tea, “ You look good Asha, any special occasion I should know about?” he asks.

I smile and say “No, I’m just walking to the bookstore around the corner. Do you want me to grab anything along the way?” 

“I’m all good here, go have fun I’ll see you later” My dad says from behind the newspaper he picked up.

***

There is a light breeze, and the sun cracks through the clouds as I walk down the sidewalk to the bookstore. Flowers are sprouting through early spring, and there is clarity in this familiar path that I know all too well. I find my way to the quaint bookstore that I’ve been coming to for years. I step through the door and inhale the welcoming scent of dusty shelves filled with books.

“Hey Mr. Elwood!” I greet the sweet elderly man who owns this store.

“Oh hey Asha, nice to see you again! I’ve got a new haul of books back there, if you want to check them out.” Mr.Elwood informs in his raspy voice.

I smile in response and head to the corner he was pointing over to. Shelves fill up the bookstore with all types of books resting on them. The sight of beige walls welcomes my expecting eyes. As I turn to the right I see a tall teenager looking in the romance section. I walk closer and see him looking at a book called “Delirium”, and I’m surprised because it’s my favorite book of all time- and you don’t usually find guys my age casually shopping for a leisure romance book.  I stop in my tracks when I catch the sight of this guy: He’s tall and has black curly hair. His frame is lanky, and his side profile has a sharp angle. In other words he’s…attractive.

Though I would usually avoid others at all costs, I decided to walk up to this mysterious man.

“So are you interested in some light romance?” I say as I joke but immediately regret.

He looks down at me and when our eyes meet something clicks, he stares for an unnerving second.

“Well…” he clears his throat, “ I hear it’s not a great Shakespearan tale, but it means something to someone really special to me” A smile spreads across his face wrinkling the skin around his beautiful green eyes as he says this, and his smile is almost contagious. His voice is velvety sounding when he spook. We stare into each other's eyes for a couple seconds, and then it hits me. His smile fades and he looks at me with a questioning look, his mouth forms an “O” shape and he’s about say something when I interrupt with,

“This person of yours…she must have a good taste in books” I say.

“You tell me…Vivienne '' He drawls out.

I’m completely appalled. Maybe it’s a coincidence that I just look like someone named Vivienne, and I can’t be sure if this guy is who I think it is. But I decide that this might either be the most embarrassing day ever, or the best so an uncontrollable grin rises and I fling my arms around Benedict’s neck. “Hey Benedict” I whisper in his ear.

I pull back and we just take in each other for a moment, and tears well up in my eyes. 

Benedict swipes his hand under my eyes while almost towering over me, “ There is no need to cry Vivienne”

“I know, I know it’s just…I never thought I would actually get the chance to meet you. And by the way my name is Asha”, I say, completely relieved I’m not blubbering in front of and hugging some random teenager. 

“You let me get to know you without telling me your actual name!” He says in mock surprise, “And if this means anything to you my name is Easton.”

I gently shove him and say, “ I knew you were too young to be called Benedict”

“Hey so, I’m going to purchase this book and maybe we could go on a walk or something?” Bene- Easton says.( I’m going to have to get used to calling him Easton). As he buys the book I run his real name through my mind, liking the edge it gives him.

He grabs my hand as we walk out of the store, and we catch up on small talk as we stroll through town. Even if this is the first time we’ve met in person, somehow we don’t feel like strangers. Our steps mesh together, and his hand feels like it was meant to hold mine. He explains the reason he’s in town- he’s visiting his uncle that lives in Boston, but is going back to Canada in a few weeks..We stop in the park, and I can’t stop thinking about how this is probably the happiest I’ve been in a long time. Sometimes I get nervous. I'm not saying the right words, or I don’t look pretty enough but I keep reminding myself to have confidence.

Easton looks down at me and when our eyes meet I melt in his beauty, “ Asha, is this really happening?”

I smile at the way my name seeps through his lips and say, “ I keep telling myself this must be a dream.”

“Well speaking of dreams…um…so”, Easton nervously chuckles, and he grows anxious “                                                         Meeting you through your school project has been a dream to me. Everyday that I had the chance to talk to you just brought me overwhelming joy. This might seem weird but I have feelings for you. The way you talk, your personality, your voice-and it doesn’t hurt that you are really gorgeous.”

I stare up in shock and say, “Easton…I don’t know what to say but the fact that you-we-found a way to fall for each other in such an odd way, really shows a test of love I never thought there was a way to fall for a guy I’ve never met, but you Easton you provided a way.” Of course we might be two hormonal teenagers who think this is everything, but the surge of emotions surrounding us right now seems so surreal 

Easton holds an intense stare with me, and nervously breathes out, “ So was I just a school project?” I can feel my heart beating through my chest with the question.

I looked at him shocked that he could even think that, “ Easton I thought you were smarter than that. Of course you mean more to me than a school project.”

Deciding to take a risk again, I press my lips to his. At first he falls slack to the gesture, but then molds us closer together by pulling my hips to his. He smells masculine and clean, and I run my fingers through his messy curls. The kiss isn’t rushed or impatient, but Easton takes his time moving his lips against mine in a rhythm that seems perfectly matched. I can’t get enough of him and I breathe him, his touch feels hot on my body and I melt into him. His tongue teases my bottom lip and I feel him smile against my lips, which only makes me swoon harder.

Easton chuckles, “So I guess this is our own Shakespearan tale…”

“Filled with great romance” I say finishing his sentence.