Happy birthday, carrots. Nineteen years of age today. My, my, young lady, how time flies.

It seems like only yesterday you were four years old and beating me to a bloody pulp with that huge book of yours. How's Uni going for you? Made any friends yet or are you missing the privilege of being in my company? ;)

P.S. That book really hurt, you know. You could've severely damaged my good looks.

Dear Mr Benjamin Butler (Eugene Archibald)—(oh yes, I still remember your middle names),

Thank you for contacting me on the date of my birthday. I was beginning to fear that you had forgotten, but it was comforting to know your memory is not as bad as I remember it to be, although I find that your heart-warming (Note the sarcasm) e-mail contains many inaccuracies in it that I would like to address to you, so that, in future, you may not repeat such deep blunders again. So here you are—

I recall quite clearly that I was most certainly not, to quote your own words, 'beating' you to a 'bloody pulp' with a 'huge book'. The book was of a moderate size and I whacked you very gently – too gently, might I add. There was no way it could've hurt you or damaged your good looks.

Oh yeah, and inaccuracy number two? There were no good looks to even begin with! ;)

I am not missing 'the privilege' (more like misfortune) of your company, at all, Benjamin Butler. In fact, seeing as you were the one to e-mail me first, I'd say you were the one missing me.

The charming nickname 'carrots' that you have given me is, as of now, invalid as I am (alas) no longer a ginger. I dyed my hair blonde yesterday and it looks good. Check my recent Facebook pictures. Good god, boy, do catch up!

And those are all the inaccuracies that I found in your e-mail. I hope you are having a wonderful day (or is it night there in Canada? Wait, what is the difference in our time zones? I'll make it a point to check so I can give you a phone call soon).

Things are really good here. I have a nice roomie and she's Scottish – her name is Delilah but she insists on being called Dee. She's doing Biology and Physics, like you are. How are you? Is the Maple syrup there as nice as they say it is? I wonder if your accent is back to being Canadian again.

Love,

My oh my, Miss Ridley Denvers (whose middle names I cannot recall at this time, but I will!!), you really are a typical English student aren't you? Here I am, expecting a normal reply back from my old pal and then receive an entire essay on the faults of my e-mail. I haven't read something this long since we finished our English GCSEs. I thought I was forever rid of long (and unnecessary) literary texts but that's what you get when you have the unfortunate luck of being acquainted with an Oxford English student (That sounds so bloody posh).

AND YOU DYED YOUR HAIR? I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT AT FIRST but I did check Facebook and bloody hell, I really do prefer your hair when it's red (and it wasn't red red, not like when you were younger. It had turned auburn now). Not saying the blonde is bad but...you're my carrots and I kind of wish you'd stay that way.

Also, it's like 11:22 AM right now, and I know your mathematical skills are abominable but I'm sure you can work out the time difference from that. I'm not sure I'm ready to call yet, though, Rids. I mean...we haven't contacted each other since September and...I'm a little unprepared to hear your voice. I hope you understand why I'm saying this. You do, right?

Also, my roomie is from South Africa and his name is Noah, though we don't speak much. I've made more friends with people from my classes though and most of them are Canadian. I'm particularly chummy with this guy Roland, who, coincidentally happens to be every bit as obsessed with Anne of Green Gables as you are. GOD! It's like I was doomed to a fate of Gilbert Blythe fangirls. (Roland insists he isn't gay and Gilbert Blythe is just one his 'man crushes'. Yeahh.)

Also, about Maple syrup? You forget, I'm allergic to it!

Love you and miss you loads,

P.S. I still have not lost my sexy British accent that all the girls here swoon over. Fear not, carrots.

Benjamin Butler, I am now officially back home for Christmas! If you didn't already know, Marcy moved into a snazzy new flat and she landed a job as Chief Chef at a five star restaurant (okay, well maybe not five star, but it's still very fancy). I even managed to visit our stinky old café Aroma and it looks a big of a mess as ever! How that place manages to stay open without any money I will never know. I can't wait to see you again! Marcy and I are going to be putting up the Christmas tree soon (She waited until I was home so we could do it together. Ah, bless her secretly sentimental heart!) and we'll be baking a bunch of cakes tomorrow as well, though I'm trying to convince Marcy to wait until you get back home so we can all do it together. Ugh, remember how you spilled the flour everywhere two Christmases ago? It took me an hour to clean up that mess thanks to you!

When will you be coming home? You haven't mentioned any dates and OH, what airport terminal should we be meeting you at? I MISS YOU SO!!! Still, I'm comforted by the fact that I'll be seeing you again.

Love,

Whoa, whoa, Rids, I'm not coming home! You didn't really expect me to come home this Christmas, did you? I mean, look at the ticket costs these days, and it gets even more expensive to book your tickets so close to the holidays. Plus, I have a lot of tests coming up after the holidays and I can't really waste my time dillydallying about baking cookies when I could be studying. I'm so sorry, but I thought it'd be obvious I wasn't coming home this year.

You'll have loads of fun, anyway, and you won't even notice I'm not there. Give Marcy my congratulations on her success and I hope you have a very Merry Christmas, carrots :)

Merry Christmas.

Also, we were going to bake cakes, not cookies.

(But either way, they would be a huge waste of time for you, right?)

So, I'm writing this e-mail as fast as I can so I can send it to you at 12 AM, England time, on the dot. I hope you have a very happy new year, carrots and I realize my last e-mail to you was a douche-bag move on my part. I was so rude but I was in a bad mood. I miss you a lot.

Okay, so just two minutes left so I'll make it quick: I met this great girl and her name's Jenna. She's nice and she's from Scotland too, just like your friend Dee! I managed to pluck up the courage to ask her out to coffee so hopefully, I can start of my New Year being a little less single and lonely. More on that soon!

Alright, fifteen seconds left.

Love ya!

Sorry for the late reply, Ben. Just arrived back on campus yesterday and things have been so hectic. A happy new year to you too, although it's a very late one. Ugh! I'm exhausted right now!

And how did your date with Henna go? Nice name.

Cannot WAIT to hear all about it.

Her name is Jenna – not Henna. The date went quite well and we've had another date since then. We're planning on going to see a film next Tuesday but I wouldn't really count that as a 'date' because we have a few other people coming along with us.

Hope you're well.

I saw pictures of you and Jenna on Facebook yesterday. You guys look very cute with each other. I'm assuming you're officially dating her now? She's very pretty.

How did you find those pictures? How did you even find her Facebook? I don't recall ever giving her last name to you, so you couldn't have looked her up.

She added me on Facebook actually.

Even if I did know her last name, I wouldn't have looked her up. I couldn't care less about Jenna.

What's wrong with you?

Nothing's wrong.

Stop being difficult, Ridley. Tell me what's wrong. Are you still ticked off about the Christmas Holiday thing? I am sorry you know.

How am I being difficult? Nothing's wrong, Ben, so can you just fucking drop it already? And look, the Christmas thing is just whatever now. I don't care if you come home or not, honestly, so don't flatter yourself thinking I'd still be mad about something as petty as that.

And now you're just being ridiculously childish.

I'm your best friend, Ridley. I want you to talk to me. Please.

You know what I want right now, Ben? I want you to just bugger off, for fuck's sake.

Fine.