It was just like any other day to Eli. He woke up, ate breakfast, brushed his teeth, and hopped in his car to go to work. When he got there, he went to the practice room and began streching with his bandmates. A few minutes later, their choreographer came in and began going through their new dance with them. A few hours later they took a break, and their manager came in with a stack of envelopes.

“Fanmail!” He smiled and passed it out amoung the members. They all smiled and took their envelopes. Some of them chose one to read while resting, but Eli sat his aside in his bag to read later when he wasn’t quite so exhausted.

That night, when he got home from a day of practice, he rediscovered the envelopes. He smiled and sat down on his couch to read while he heated up something to eat. There were three today. He read the first, then the second. They were typical exclaimations of love and encouragement, telling him to work hard and know that he was loved by his fans. These made him smile, although one was in Korean which made it very hard for him to read well. He set those aside and picked up the last. This one was rather thick compared to the others, but this only made him even more curious. Usually the letters were maybe a couple of pages long, always the same. There was only so much you could say to show your love and encouragement to a stranger, so what could this person have to say? He quickly ripped the envelope open; ignoring the chime of his microwave, signaling his food was ready. He pulled out a thick bundle of papers and prayed that it wasn’t in Korean. His prayers were answered when lines upon lines of English words stared back at him. He smiled and began reading.

Dear Eli,

This letter was a sudden idea. I don’t know why… And I doubt you’ll ever see it, so why do I even bother? How do I even know that you’ll receive my letter? I guess I don’t really know, but for some reason I think maybe it’s even better if you never see this. Maybe that idea will make it easier for me to say what I need to say. You know, most people write letters to celebrities to proclaim their never ending love and support, but that’s not what this is. Sure, it all applies, but I have more I want to say, because even though I know you’ll never read this or even care, it feels nice to say what I want to say and know that its going to someone and that its not just going to sit in my notebook forever, collecting dust. So, here I go. I’m going to tell you about myself; the kinds of things I don’t tell people. Well, I don’t tell people much about myself, I guess that’s just the thing. I say just enough about nonsensical things that they think they know me and they think I tell them all there is to know. Or manybe they’re distracted enough to not even think about it. They don’t even realise that they’ve just touched the surface. And it’s not as though I have lots to tell, I’m just secretive, or maybe private is a better word? And there’s not even any reason really, I think. Nothing terrible has happened to encompase my life and make me want to hide, I just am this way. I think it’s because I want to be independent. I don’t want others to worry about me because I think I can take care of myself. It’s taken me along time to figure this out, but I think this is why I am the way I am. I have this incessant need to be independent. I think it’s because I’m an only child and my parents were often busy when I was younger, so I grew up entertaining myself, and even as my parents gained more free time, I was already used to supporting myself. And as I’ve grown older, I’ve delved deeper into myself without even noticing. I think my parents have noticed; they try to be happy and engage me, but I just don’t work that way. This is just how I am now, I don’t know… And it’s not as if I’m not happy! I am! I just keep to myself a lot and have a hard time opening up and reaching out to people. So, I think that’s why it’s so easy for me to write this to you; You don’t know me, I don’t know you, it’s the perfect set up. You’ll probably never read this, and even if you do, you can’t judge me and try to console me about nonexistent things. Because this isn’t a problem, it’s just how I am, but people don’t get stuff like that. They think if you’re not like them, you’re broken. I’m not broken, I’m just different. And its not as if I don’t trust people, I do, I just have a harder time opening up and sharing my feelings.To me, feelings are something so personal and it takes a special type of person to just sit there and listen without judgement and without taking offense. So, I have a hard time, so I’m going to tell these things that I can’t say to those around me to you…

Eli continued reading, engrossed into the strange letter. The writer went on to open their heart and spill it on the pages, but it wasn’t a pathetic sort of letter, it was the letter of a strong, independent person, just looking for an apathetic ear and welcoming heart where she could lay her endless worries. She was asking for nothing from him, not even to read, as she had said many times in the letter that she didn’t even expect the letter to reach him. She just wanted her words to have a destination; whether or not it ever made it there mattered not to her.

Once he finished reading the last page he scrambled up to find his own piece of paper and pen. Once he had procured said items, he sat down at his kitchen table and began writing a letter of his own. He looked to hers for guidance, sure to comment on everything said in the letter. He wasn’t supposed to do this, and he kept trying to remind himself of this, but he couldn’t stop. There was a girl out there who had opened her heart to him, and only him, he couldn’t let that go unnoticed; he had to let her know that he had listened and had heard her. He had to let her know that she was not alone, never alone, and that everyone has their issues and that its okay to be secretive, but that he’s sure her friends would be happy to listen and lend a shoulder for her to cry on, but if she can’t find herself to talk, she can write him and cry and he’ll read and cry for her.

And hour and three pages later Eli laid down his pen and stared at the papers before him. Sure, it was messy and scribbled in parts, but he decided that that’s how it should be. It was more raw and personal that way, and he wanted her to know that this was real, not some well thought out and measured garbage that anyone could give, but meaningful and from the heart. He smiled and went to find an envelope to place the pages in. He folded up the papers carefully and placed them inside before sealing it tightly. He searched the drawers for a couple of stamps, taking into consideration the international mail pricing. Then he sat down and copied her address onto the front before copying his address onto the return address with the intitials of K.J.K. (Kyoung Jae Kim). He couldn’t put Eli Kim down, for fear of it getting into the wrong hands, but using those initials could make it anyone and so it was safe for him. He stared down at the envelope for another moment, before getting up to reheat his food. He would mail it on his way to work in the morning.