RPOV

It was officially the end of my second week at college - and I wasn't exactly sure how I felt about that.

Everything was different from how I had expected it. I had anticipated attending endless parties and social events without caring about anything, my best friend by my side. Instead, I'd been intimidated by the amount of work I'd need to get done in one semester, been occupied with a couple of track introductory trainings, and felt incredibly homesick.

It was weird. I'd always wanted to leave home, yet here I was pining for the normality of it. I hadn't had the easiest upbringing, what with my estranged father and absent mother, so I didn't know why I was so surprised at the lack of correspondence. I had been practically raised by my best friend Lissa Dragomir's family since the tender age of eight, as my mother was constantly away for business. Eric and Rhea Dragomir had become like substitute parents to me. But early in our Sophomore year at high school, my new family and I were in a serious car accident. Lissa's parents and older brother Andre had passed away, leaving the two of us to fend for ourselves. We were taken under the care of her Uncle Victor for the next few years of high school, until recently when we came to college together.

My mother was constantly in and out of my life. Janine Hathaway was a highly respected Major General in the US Marines, married to her work and continuously away on business. She was present after the accident, taking on the role of mother and supporting both Lissa and I for several weeks. Yet when Victor offered to care for us she had no qualms in handing over the reigns. I would see her occasionally at Thanksgiving or Christmas, but she was never really a stable figure in my life.

On the other hand, my father had moved out long before I was old enough to even remember him. It was only recently within the last year where we had formed any sort of connection. After several years of searching, the infamous Abe Mazur had been able to track me down and contact me. We had met twice and both meetings were sufficiently awkward, but we were both doing our best to form some kind of bond to make up for all those years of absence. Abe was also completely dedicated to his work, not all of which was strictly legal. He had been fairly nonspecific regarding the finer details, but his emphasis on creating connections with those in 'high places' had me suspicious as to how much blackmail he was involved in. With their careers almost being polar opposites, it was a wonder that Abe and Janine had been able to have a relationship. But they had, and I was the result.

I found myself longing for some kind of contact with my parents, some sign that they were thinking of me during this big change in my life. And so, every day I would routinely go and check my school mailbox, always hopeful that it may be different from the previous day. And every day I would be disappointed.

I never received any mail.

I tried not to let it get to me. Victor would send letters addressed to both Lissa and I, but they never arrived at my mailbox. I suppose it was rather childish of me, a girl who had had to grow up far beyond her years to deal with the circumstances that life had thrown her way. But truth be told, I was finding college a struggle. Even though Lissa and I were roommates, we were taking completely different classes and involved in different activities. I missed my best friend. I missed my old friends from home. I missed my messed up, unconventional family.

College had brought out new insecurities in me - not that I'd disclose that to anyone. I prided myself on my confidence and usually I would be ready to jump into the deep end and face any obstacle in my way. Especially with my best friend by my side! But the distance that had grown between us these last few weeks was troubling me. I knew it was irrational - Lissa had been my honorary sister since we were kids, it was going to take more than being in different classes and social circles to tear us apart. Yet, my gut still held onto that uneasy tension every time she went off and did her own thing. Lissa was flourishing; making friends and experiencing new things, falling into her natural social butterfly role. I was more apprehensive about the new changes, masking my nerves with sarcasm and witty comments. Caught up in her own little world of excitement, Lissa just couldn't tell. But he could.

I didn't know who he was. He was simply always there. Every morning when I came to check my mailbox, he would be at his own. His box was 160, on the right of my own, and he almost always had something to retrieve from his mailbox. I tried not to feel jealous of him, but it was hard not to. In a time when I felt so alone, it would be nice to have some kind of contact with my family other than the occasional rushed phone call or generic text conversation.

Mailbox Number 160 was tall, towering over me at around 6'6" or 6'7" and had long, dark brown hair that we usually tied back in a low ponytail. He was certainly attractive, but also very reserved in his nature. He never spoke a word to me, but smiled each time he passed me in the mail room. It was nice. His deep brown eyes sparkled with friendliness despite his shy nature, and the small, simple interaction soon became my sole reason for checking my mailbox daily (I had long accepted that I would never be sent a letter).

It was common for him to pull out one or two coloured envelopes every few days. They were usually red or yellow. Some of these letters had exotic stamps on them of weird shapes I hadn't seen before. I supposed they were foreign. And judging from the cyrillic writing of the return address on the back of the letters, I suspected that they came from Russia. I would glance at them wistfully from the corner of my eye as I dutifully checked my empty mailbox over and over again. I would sigh, look to my right, give a small smile, and then head off to my next stop of the day. Naturally, we established a routine as complete strangers.

Once when he accidently dropped one of his letters, I quickly shot down and retrieved it for him. I was rewarded with a friendly, crooked smile.

I smiled, thinking of his beautiful face. He was so good-looking, and such a friendly guy too. Sure, we'd never spoken a word to one another, but I sure as hell wanted to get to know him. If I had been back home, I probably would have introduced myself by now. Hell, I probably would have skipped the whole small talk and asked him to hang out with me and my friends. But, for the last week or so at college, I had been feeling too down and insecure to do that. Sighing, I climbed into bed.

The next morning on my way to class, I fell into my normal routine, heading to the mailboxes before class. Headphones in, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. So you can imagine my surprise when a large hand gently grasped my wrist, stopping me in the doorway of the mail room. I glanced up at him, pulling out my earbuds with my free hand. Smiling secretly, his voice laced in the smoothest Russian accent, he said "the post has arrived."

"I'm sorry, what…?" I stared at him in confusion. But he simply smiled, released my wrist and strode away.

Mistified, I went over to my mailbox and opened it. There lay a yellow envelope addressed to Mailbox Number 159. I couldn't help the grin that spread across my face as I tore off the envelope. Instead, handwritten on plain white paper was the following message.

Dear Mailbox Number 159,

I am your neighbour, Mailbox Number 160. I hope you are doing well today.

I would like to thank you for your kindness and friendliness in the mornings, every single day. Checking my mailbox is one of the very first things that I do, and your smile brightens my day. I thought that in honor of our simple routine, and your diligence in returning daily to your mailbox, that I would reward you with a letter of my own. I felt that it was only right, considering the nature of our strange relationship!

I'd also hoped that this could be a nice introduction, since I'd really like to get to know you better. If you would too, you can add me on Facebook. Perhaps using Messenger is a more efficient means of communication than letters?

From your mailbox neighbour,

Dimitri Belikov

A/N: Hopefully you enjoyed this! I'm currently working on another College-based story. I had wanted to use this idea as part of that story, but it didn't quite fit the story, so I decided to just write a cute oneshot.