You’re returning? When? Do you know, or will you wait for the end of the war? P.S. You truly don’t have wings? I’m shocked. She paused, uncertain how to respond. It suddenly felt as if she had a host of butterflies within her, and she typed: I’ll return most likely when the war is over. I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. P.S. I most certainly don’t have wings.
This ought to work out well, when she finds out he knew her identity the whole time.
