I'd been waiting for this call for three weeks now. I would sit by the phone all day (pretty much) jumping out of my skin every time it rang. Many times it was friends asking "Wanna hang out?" or "Stop waiting for a call that'll never come!" if they had called more than once already. But I couldn't just not wait.

My mother called me crazy and my dad chuckled and muttered about "lovesick" something or other, but I didn't care. My brothers all looked at me strangely and avoided both the phone and me. I holed up in my room, playing games on my PS2 and writing stories and poems about him.

"Him?" you might ask? Yes, him. He is my friend. A very good friend that I happened to take a great liking to over the years. The best part was that he liked me back. We went out on dates and kissed and had fun, but we had never ever actually dated. He was never my boyfriend, my boy-toy or make-out buddy. He was just a friend. And I love him.

I fell in love somewhere between our second date and our tenth date. He was a sweet and kind guy who every girl dreams of. We used to always joke about whom we would marry and our different wedding days. I always told him he would make some woman very happy one day. His consistent response was flat denial of having any relationships with women. It always warmed me inside to imagine that he was saving himself.

Our dates and fun times ended when he moved away. We promised to write and call, but his new job (at only seventeen) pulled him to so many places, I never knew where he was next. Two years later, now, I got a letter telling me to wait for a phone call from him.

I had moved as well, with my family, to two other towns over the two years he was gone, and I was overjoyed at knowing he had found me. But why did he wait so long to call? He could have called a day after the letter arrived! I was itching to know why he wasn't calling.

I crawled into bed that night worried and confused, as I had been many nights before. I hugged my teddy bear (a gift from him when we were sixteen) and imagined it was him I was holding again. I fell asleep like that.

I was awoken by the sound of my cell phone, situated on my desk. Climbing over my mussed bedding, I grabbed it and answered, not bothering to see who it was.

"Danielle?"

My heart leapt. "That's me."

"Look outside your window."

I groggily moved to the window, opened it, (as was my habit) and looked out. There on the side lawn beneath my window was Patrick.

"I love you."

"I love you too," I wept.

"Marry me?"

"Always."