Closing the book after another session of reading Nate's story, a strange sense of nostalgia hits me.

He remembers everything of our very first meeting. At the time, from what I can remember, it was casually conversation but to him, it helped him find some guidance in journey instead of wandering aimlessly. And who would've known that that meeting would've sparked a friendship lasting over half a century and still going strong.

"Grandpa? You okay?" my granddaughter asks me while I remember all the times I spent hanging out with Nate. Still not out of my dream-like state, Claris calls me again, "Grandpa, you there?"

Waking from my trance, I ask, "Yeah, I'm here. What's up?" This time, the fire is able to illuminate the library as I made sure to supply it with fuel while reading.

My granddaughter looks at me curiously, "Grandpa, I was calling you for a while, but you weren't responding. Are you okay?" she asks me concernedly.

Making sure she doesn't get worried, I answer her with a grin, "Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry; I was just remembering how Nate and I met all those years ago. That's all."

"Alright, grandpa" she says. "Is that really how you and Nate met, though; in a burger shop and sharing a meal?"

"Yes, this is exactly how we met so many years ago," I tell her with a satisfied look on my face. I lie back in my chair, setting the book on my lap.

Claris does the same, but she wants more; I can tell. "Grandpa, what did you think of Nate when you two first met?" she curiously asks me.

"I did think he was a very interesting person and he did write that in his book. He was a novice at the time but he viewed Pokémon as equals, something many trainers don't see."

She's not happy with that answer. "That's not what I meant, grandpa. What did you really think of him?" Though annoyed when people misunderstand her, I've made sure to teach her to take deep, slow breaths, which she's doing right now.

When I know she has calmed down, I say, "You do realize that you're asking me to remember something from when I was nineteen, right?" She hangs her head, ashamed that she made an outburst directed towards me. "I'll try to remember, though, if that'll make you happy."

Now, what did I think of him when we first met? I do remember him sitting upright the whole time, meaning that he was confident, but for him to ask for advice meant he wasn't cocky. Also, whenever I finished saying something, he'd move his eyes to the side for a couple of seconds as if he was thinking of something.

I look back to my granddaughter, who is now twirling her brown hair with her fingers. She stops twirling her hair and looks at me, ready to listen to what I'm going to say. "I remember him as being confident, but not cocky; he wouldn't ask me for advice if he was. It also seemed like he was always thinking of something. Like, whenever I finished saying something, he'd turn his eyes to the side and slightly furrow his brow."

Claris gets up out of her chair and goes to crouch by the fireplace, outstretching her hands close to the fire to get warm. She turns her head towards me; the fire giving her an orange glow to her otherwise lightly-tanned skin. She smiles and says, "Can you read for a little bit more please? It's the weekend and I can put another piece of wood in the fire."

Since I'm not tired and I'd like to know where this story is going to go. "Alright, go get some firewood then from outside. I just need to write a quick letter to some people who are calling my books similar to someone else's books."

She joyfully jumps up, excited that I'll continue reading to her. "Okay, grandpa, I'll be back in a bit," she says as she's leaving the library.

Returning to my aforementioned task, I pull out a drawer from the coffee table. Inside the drawer is paper, pens, envelopes; all that is necessary to write. Pulling out a sheet of paper alongside a fountain pen, I begin to write.

Dear Readers,

Firstly, I'd like to thank you for reading my stories. It's greatly appreciated that someone out there in this vast world actually enjoys something I write. Again, just thank you for your support else I may have stopped writing all together if it weren't for your positive feedback and constructive criticism which helps me improve how I write.

Now, onto the main reason why I'm writing: some have stated that one of my stories that I've written is very similar to another person's story. Personally, I'd like to say that that is partly true. One must find inspiration somewhere to begin writing, else one will run into a wall. While I have taken inspiration from this particular source, is it even possible to write a story with none of its elements being written elsewhere?

Having been exposed to all types of entertainment, I drew upon what I've read and seen, putting my own spin on it. It'd be nigh impossible to write a fully-original story with almost every type of entertainment being produced today. I just did my best to make the story as I wanted it to be; nothing more.

Thanks for your time,

Andrew Cooper

Putting down the pen, I fold the paper in the proper size to fit a standard envelope. Opening the drawer once again, I grab an envelope and put the letter inside, licking the adhesive to close it shut. Satisfied, I put the envelope on the table and close the drawer.

Since Claris likes to get things done, usually in a fast manner, I hardly have to wait for her to return back from grabbing the firewood. She makes a grand entrance by kicking open the library door while carrying two decent-sized pieces of wood.

Is she imagining herself as some heroine in an action movie? As long as the door isn't damaged, she can do that all she wants.

She walks over to the fireplace and puts one of the pieces of wood inside while putting the other in a wicker basket to the side of the fireplace. She returns back to her seat, eager to listen to more of the story. "Grandpa, are you ready?" she joyfully asks though she already knows the answer. We pick up the book and find where we last left off.

"Okay, let's continue."