Short Story 33: The Journey of a Fountain Pen

Short Story 33: The Journey of a Fountain Pen

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My name is fountain pen. I'm no ordinary pen, crafted from polished metal, with ink that flows smoothly across the page. I’m often used for careful handwriting, elegant letters, and even artful calligraphy.


My journey began when a girl named Umaira bought me from a stationery shop near her boarding school. She chose me carefully, saying, “A fountain pen makes words feel peaceful and beautiful.” From that day on, I became her loyal companion.


Each night in the dorm, Umaira would write in her journal, pen poems, or letters to her family. Sometimes, my ink would splatter slightly, matching the speed of her emotions. I could feel when she was joyful, sad, or homesick. Every swirl and stroke told a story.


One day, I noticed Umaira becoming weaker. She didn’t write for days. I remained tucked inside her pencil case, silent and forgotten. Her roommate whispered, “Umaira was taken home… the doctor said she needs a long rest.”


Weeks turned into months. I stayed inside her desk drawer, untouched. One afternoon, her teacher opened the drawer and found me, still filled with ink, still waiting. She discovered Umaira’s notebook beside me. Gently, she read aloud one of Umaira’s poems:

"Each line I write carries my longing,

For family, for friends, for knowledge unfolding."


The classroom grew silent. Some students wiped away tears. I was later placed inside a glass box in the school library with a note:

"This pen once carried dreams and emotion. Let it continue to whisper inspiration to others."


Though I am just a pen, I was once the voice of an extraordinary heart.

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By: Siti Isah Ithnin 🫰




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