I’m late. She’ll kill me if I skip my own birthday party. She’s worked so hard on it, and she’s been my best friend all my life, so I have to go. And, truth be told, I’m hoping he’ll be there.

I know he sees me at these things, events where we let the girls mingle, gain familiarity with the men. He always writes a letter after, complimenting me on how I looked; how nice it was to see me dancing…

I wonder if I’ve ever danced with him.

He sends me gifts, too; all those books, that silk wrap, the emerald bracelet I’m wearing that matches my mother’s special earrings.

And he knows my name. Not the nickname I’ve been called since I was born, but my real one. My teachers didn’t even know it, but somehow he knows.

I’ve tried to figure out who he is; I’ve re-read the letters so many times the ink is wearing off. All I can come up with is that he’s older. And he knows books. And he’s a bit of romantic.

Which pretty much eliminates all the men I know – but he has to be here. There’s nowhere else to be.