The Anonymous Case of Ms. Rachel Thompson

Rachel Thompson, a woman in her mid-forties, was one of the greatest writers ever to walk upon our planet. Her looks, usually elegant, did not show her old soul within. One might perhaps wonder how old she could be. Well, take it from me, deep inside, she’s as old as the ocean. 

One thing about her that always fascinated her readers was her way of writing. She always used typewriters and adamantly refused to use any technology. Unlike the teenagers in this real-time world, who are stuck to their phones, Ms.Thompson’s only companions were her typewriter, books and her eclectic collection of plants. When one peeped through her window, it looked like a gateway to a zoo. In every room sat a row of plants from various countries, with butterflies flying around them. However, in one room alone, which she dedicated to writing, there sat rows and rows of books, each one waiting to be read by another soul. An aura of serenity and solace spread through her house.

One fine day, Rachel sat with her typewriter, observing every word she had written on the page and frowned upon it. She then carefully printed out the words “The End”, and sighed with relief. Just then, she heard a tap at her window. Rachel slowly stood up, carefully peering through the window, just to see a young girl about 10 years of age, knocking at her window nervously. She opened the window and went near the girl. “What do you want, child”, she asked. “Ma’am, I didn't mean to disturb you or anything. I was playing with my ball, which accidentally landed on your garden. I’ve approached you in the hope of gaining my ball back, which is currently stuck in one of your beautiful topiaries”, she said. 

Impressed with the amount of knowledge and her language, Rachel gave the child a quick smile, before asking her to join her for some tea and cookies. “What’s your name, child? And, where are you from?”, she asked. “My name is Eleanor, and I live just two streets away. What do you do, ma’am?” 

Despite being a successful writer, Rachel liked to remain anonymous. She never let anyone see who she really was. Nobody knew where she was from, nobody knew how she looked. Nobody even knew her real name, for she wrote under a pseudonym. So, she was not really surprised when Eleanor was unable to recognize her. 

“Well, Eleanor, I’m a writer. I write books under the name of Rosa. Ever heard of her before?” 

“Wait, that’s you? You are Rosa? Really? Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!! I cannot believe it!! You have no idea how much your books mean to me. Your books gave me a whole new perspective on things. Your thoughts, your words, they all made me ponder about stuff I wouldn’t normally care about” 

“Well, what was so special about them?”

“The way you looked at technology” 

“Yes, but what does it mean?” 

“Like I said, it gave me a whole new perspective. After reading your works, I feel you don’t detest technology but are actually scared of it. You don’t detest change, but you fear it. It made me ponder if change is really necessary in our lives. But anyway, I better get going. My mom would be waiting for me. Thanks for the tea, Ms. Rosa”, she said, as she headed towards the door. 

Rachel had no idea that a young girl would have changed her life. But, it happened. A young girl of 10 had made her wonder about things she wouldn’t normally wonder about. Even though she still writes using a typewriter, she’s grown quite comfortable with a little change. She continues to write stories and publishes them anonymously. No one knows who she is. Maybe, she’s the one who wrote this story. Who knows?