Yours, John

“Final call boarding all passengers for flight 3816 to Rome.”

With one last look at the letter, Caroline folds it in fourths and stuffs it in her purse as she heads toward Gate 58. This is the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done. I should just get out of this line and go home. Forget this entire hair-brained idea. How hard would it be to retrieve my suitcase before it makes it on the plane?

Despite her inner monologue, Caroline moves forward in line, acting on autopilot when the gate attendant scans her boarding pass. It’s almost as though someone else is controlling her legs and propelling her down the loading bridge toward the plane.

When she steps aboard and makes her way down the narrow aisle, she repeats her mantra over and over in her head, trying to settle her skittering heart. Even though we’ve never met, I’ve known him for years. He is not a stranger.

As she approaches seat 14E, she notices someone is already sitting in the window seat, only the top of his light brown hair visible as he is bent over something in his lap. He looks up as she slides into her seat next to him, friendly eyes the color of sapphires meeting hers. A brief glimmer of recognition hits her, but she brushes it off as a consequence of her nerves. They smile politely at each other and finish stowing their carry-ons.

Caroline pulls the letter out of her purse and unfolds it, reading the familiar scrunched handwriting again.

Caroline,

It’s your 30th birthday! I haven’t forgotten about our pact (and I know you haven’t either, so don’t try to pretend). Assuming you haven’t neglected mentioning a boyfriend in your letters, I think it’s time to make good on our deal. Meet me in Rome on April 15th. I’ll be waiting for you.

Yours,

John

Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply, attempting to tamp down her anxiety.

“First time flying internationally?” the stranger next to her asks, his voice as deep and smooth as fine whiskey.

She opens her eyes and realizes one hand is clutching the letter and the other is white-knuckling the armrest between them. Intentionally willing herself to relax, she turns to him and answers, “Yes. Actually, it’ll be my first time out of the country. I’ve always wanted to travel, but admittedly I’m a bit of a workaholic and never took the time until now.”

He gives her a rueful smile. “Well, we have that in common. Being workaholics, I mean. But extensive travel is part of my job, and I’ve been all over the globe. Where are your travels taking you? Maybe I can offer some tips depending on where you will be.”

Caroline tucks a lock of her curly brown hair behind her ear as she pulls up her notes app on her phone. “I’m not entirely sure of my plans, but I’m starting out in Rome. If things go well, I may be touring Italy for the next month. If you have any suggestions on places to visit or eat, I’d love to hear them,” she says, smiling shyly.

He tilts his head inquisitively, “What do you mean, if things go well?”

She looks down in her lap, trying to decide how much she should reveal to this handsome stranger. When she looks up and meets his earnest gaze, she thinks, Why not? It might be nice to talk to someone. Maybe it will sound less crazy if I say it out loud.

Taking a deep breath, she says, “I’m meeting someone in Rome. It’s someone I’ve known since I was a child. He’s truthfully my best friend. It feels like we know everything about each other, like we’ve grown up together. But the thing is,” she says, wincing, knowing this is where she’ll probably lose him, “I’ve never actually met him in person.”

He studies her thoughtfully, rubbing his hand across his sharp jaw. She rushes to continue, hoping to convince him she’s not a raving lunatic.

“I know that sounds crazy. But we’ve actually been pen pals since we were kids. Our schools randomly matched us up in their pen pal programs, and we just never stopped writing to each other. I’m an only child, and as a kid his letters provided the companionship I desperately craved. And as we grew into teenagers, he felt like my safe person who I could ask all of the questions I was too embarrassed to ask my friends.

“We actually planned to meet each other after we graduated from high school, but he ended up getting in a car accident the week before our trip and couldn’t travel. And then we both went to college, and I got swept up in getting my degree and climbing the corporate ladder, and before I realized it, I woke up and I was 30.”

She glances over at him and finds him looking at her intently. As her tongue darts out to wet her lips, she sees his eyes snag on the motion. Clearing his throat, he asks, “What made you decide to meet him in-person after all of these years?”

She sighs. “We made a pact as teenagers that if we were still single when we turned 30, we’d marry each other. Silly, I know. But honestly, I think I’ve always deeply felt that he was my soulmate. That we were meant to be together. I think I’ve unconsciously been waiting for him, sabotaging any other romantic relationship I’ve had, pathetically few that there were.

“He wrote me a letter recently, reminding me of our pact. We decided to meet in Rome, and if everything goes well, elope and spend a long honeymoon traveling the country.”

“What if you finally see him in-person, and there’s no spark? No chemistry?” he asks, chewing on his lip, genuine concern in his eyes.

Dragging her eyes from his lips, she answers, “Then, I suppose I’ll come back home. I realize this is a wildly far-fetched romantic notion. But I just can’t imagine not feeling something. In truth, I think I’ve been in love with him for a long time.”

“I don’t think it’s far-fetched,” he says softly.

“All I have is a picture of him from the first grade. Tow-head, blue eyes, cute dimples,” as she says this, she looks up at him. Tilting her head, she studies him, saying, “Actually, your smile reminds me of him.”

He slowly pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, opens it, and slides a picture out. “I’ve been carrying this old picture around for nearly 25 years, hoping one day I’d finally get to meet this beautiful blue-eyed, curly-haired girl. I’ve buried myself in work over the years, travelling incessantly, biding my time and hoping against hope that she would keep our pact.”

He turns to her, offering his hand, and says, “I’m John. It’s nice to finally meet you, Caroline.”