Dearest Wendy,

I met her at a high school mixer at the age of sixteen. She was far too shy to approach me herself, so her friends stepped in (ignoring her pleas to let it be) and asked if I’d dance with her. I accepted, and they introduced me to Wendy. She was soft-spoken, yet insightful—sweet, but not overly saccharine—lovely, and yet so reserved—witty, and altogether charming. You’d better believe we exchanged numbers that night.

Over the next few weeks, feelings flickered, and we had a less than interesting romantic fling, but we eventually decided that we were better off as friends. We’d spend hours on the phone, talking about things I wish I’d remembered, even though the things we had to say to each other at such a tender age probably weren’t worth remembering anyway. But regardless, there was something special about that girl. I knew it even back then.

A year after we met, Wendy’s father had a job transfer that required him to move to London. The family followed, and my good friend was whisked away to some rainy European island without ever having a say. We would email each other to fill the silences with comforting words, and we’d stage brilliant exchanges that left us both breathless and amazed at all of the profundity that we’d stumble upon through our silly little ponderings. I felt as though I was at my best when I was “speaking” to Wendy, and I often suspected she felt the same.

But as time passed and obligations got the better of both of us, our letters flowed less frequently. Eventually, after a year and a half of email correspondence, the letters stopped altogether. If anybody’s really to blame, it’s me. I was the one that didn’t write back, and I’ve always regretted it. It’s been about three years now since we’ve contacted each other. I tried writing an email to her old address a few days ago, but an automated response politely informed me that the account I was trying to contact no longer existed. I wasn’t too surprised.

I wonder what that girl has been up to these days. The last I heard of her, she was attending Brown University. That’s as much as I know, though. I wonder if she’s finally learned what it means to be in love. I wonder if she still speaks with a hint of an English accent. I wonder who her friends are. I wonder if she’s happy. Wendy, wherever you are, I hope life is treating you well. Maybe I’ll see you around someday, by chance. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Take care, dear friend.