back in first grade, i became super interested in books. i loved reading them, and at some point, i decided i wanted to write one myself. so, i grabbed some papers from... somewhere (i don't remember), sat down, and started writing. my story was about a girl named zeynep, who was the new kid at school and trying to make friends. the plot wasn't anything crazy, but at the time, i was really proud of it because it was the first story i had ever written.
after i finished, i wanted it to feel like a real book, so i stapled the pages together. in my head, that made it official. then, i gave it to my neighbor leticia. i was kind of nervous because i didnt know if she'd actually like it or if she'd just take it and forget about it. but after she read it, she told me she liked it and that she was going to keep it somewhere in her room. i don't know where that "somewhere" was, but she sounded like she actually meant it, so i just went with it.
a year later, leticia moved away, and i never saw her again. but sometimes, i still think about that story and wonder if she kept it. like, is it still sitting in a random box somewhere. did she forget about it completely? no clue.
a note to leticia: if you still have my story, let me know. i want to know if first-grade me was a literary genius or a nonsense writer.
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