Delusional Fictions

He concentrated slowly on the lines of the book he was holding, tracing each word with his index finger that he read as if each word held the depth of a galaxy within itself and it intrigued her.

Colours of emotions crossed his features with each passing minute, with each turning page. An onlooker could hardly tell what was going on through his head. His expressions drastically changed from confused to shocked, to disbelief in the matter of a few stretched moments.

After a while, a frown creased his forehead deliberately at what he was reading. Shacking his head in a sad gesture and almost disbelief, he closed the book he was reading and pushed it aside on the nearby side table. Meanwhile, pushing himself more into his reading chair and closing his eyes in deep thought.

She crossed her legs under herself, glanced above at him from her own book for a slight moment. She caught him somewhat trapped in a deep trance. Eyes closed, tracing his fingers over his lips, a habit he’d formed whenever confused, uncertain or nervous. She smiled at how she had grown to read him so well, like an open book.

“Did the author kill one of your favourite characters, again?” She asked while closing her own book, emphasizing on ‘again’. She relaxed into the cushion and placed her chin upon her palm, resting and watched him keenly. A knowing smile formed on her lips. She liked reading him.

“Nope! I just don’t understand why they fancy writing stuff that is far from reality.”

“Because it’s called fiction for a reason you know.” She mocked unintentionally. He opened his eyes and caught her staring back at him attentively. He narrowed his eyes at her.

“I like it real.” He remarked after a long pause.

“Well it is real, depends on how you want to see it. Always about perspective.” She further chipped in.

Taking a deep breath, he stood slowly, straightened his crisped shirt and walked towards where she was seated on the carpeted floor. She raised her head at him, confusion crossing her features for the slightest of seconds. He reached her in a few long strides and sat across her on the carpeted floor. Comfortably seating himself across of her. Crossing his legs, he crunched down a little to meet her eye level and observe her for a moment.

“So you agree to their lame stereotypical and cliché, substandard plots?” He asked her curiously and saw how her eyes deepened it’s shade when she continued staring back at him, confounded.

“Bad boy falling in love with the good girl, a billionaire with the poor, perfectionist with the imperfection, extrovert with the introvert, opposites attract and all that delusional crap?” He further elucidated.

She blinked at him, taking her time to make sense of what he was saying or how precisely accurate he was with his viewpoint. He was right, there was no reality in any of that, at least not to them.

“But the attraction does happen-.” She tried to argue for the sake of defending the authors she loved reading, “but doesn’t last.” He finished for her with a serious expression crossing his features.

“Which is why they never write about what happens after the big decision is taken. ‘Staying together for the rest of their lives’ happen. I mean they’ll never write about how all these differences that make you fall in love or infatuation in the first place, later turn into reasons of making you fall out of that same love. And people do fall out of love as normally as they fall in love. So, it’s unrealistic to me.” He said with a sore expression. She chuckled.

“Don’t opposites attract you?” She asked intrigued, to which he only shrugged. “Two radicals don’t meet in life to make an intimate life story come true.” He certainly knew how to be blunt with his views.

“Do they attract you?” He counters questioned her this time. Intensively staring into her eyes, trying to find what went through her head or how truthfully she’d opt to answer back.

“Opposites don’t attract me, I rather think that the idea is somewhat a hoax,” he arched a perfect eyebrow in question, to which she lightly shrugged and sighed audibly. Knowing very well he won’t be satisfied by just that answer. He wanted an insight into her thoughts, depth to her words, a meaning behind her casual statement. So, she continued,

“for example, for someone like me who’s known the freedom of solitude, lived her life on her terms, always voicing her opinions, dreams and views. Someone who’s not very familiar with the idea of sharing but learning through it. I’d only settle for the idea of being with someone when I’m sure that he won’t want to cage my soul and let me have my individuality. Which is only possible if he himself values his freedom. He himself is a free soul that doesn’t need the dependency for survival.”

“Exactly, someone can’t really understand you when they have not even the slightest idea of where you come from or what exactly you’re made of. They don’t know you and if they don’t know you, they won’t understand or accept you either. That’s being realistic.” She looked up at him, her emotions glistening in her wide eyes.

“It’s beyond me how someone even considers that such a strangled togetherness could ever last. It’s like holding onto bitter hope even though knowing the aggrieved reality to your story.” He further added.

“I’d rather want her as broken from the roughness of life as I am. So, we can help each other find our pieces together. That’s the kind of intimacy I would pitch on.” He emphasised, looking back at her with soft, understanding eyes.

He reached out to hold her hands, now folded atop of her lap. Trying to pull her back from the demons of her dark thoughts. Where she was accustomed to questioning her existence more than she should. Where he knew he didn’t want her to lose herself. He knew what his words were doing to her.

Her hands felt soft in his warm ones. Her fingers fitting perfectly into his soft hold, as if she were designed for him. He started forming circles with his thumb at the back of her hands. A habit they had formed over time, once realising how it soothed down her scattered mind and nerves. She weakly smiled at him, knowing exactly what he was trying to do.

It wasn’t only her who could read him like an open book. He too had learnt the art of reading her and was exceptional at his job. After all, they were two stories from the same book. Pages of the same novel.

She bit down on her bottom lip in an attempt to align her own thoughts and emotions before continuing.

“I too want him to come from where I come from. So, he’ll know the battles I fight each day, the demons that haunt me each lucid dream and the scars I hide so elusively.” She paused to take a deep breath and he gave her time to recollect herself.

“I don’t want to spend so much time and efforts in making him accept my differences or even try compromising over his. I find that irrational. I just want to look at someone and see him smile back approvingly at me just for being myself.” He smiled at her revelation.

“I don’t want to beat myself each time into reconsidering things before saying or doing them. Into rethinking simple things that are there to me, fearing that he might not feel comfortable or okay about it.” She gazed up at him and he stayed quiet. Letting her words sink into the void of his own mind but didn’t stop her from speaking her mind out. He needed her to do it. And maybe he was pushing her into doing it. He needed to know what she wanted and be verbal about it this once at least.

“I’m flawed and I know it, and so should he. So, at certain nights when I feel anxiety crawling up my bones, I’ll know he will help me fight it and not feel offended with how I might act. Or react to the tantrums I might throw at the time. And other nights when I’m more myself, he might just lay there with me enjoying star grazing, in the peace of our own chaos.” She tightened her hold on him, reassuring him.

“Also he won’t call me a drama queen every time my insecurities work up. He won’t ask me why I feel fascinated with old classics either. Or why I always compare vampires to serial killers and how the idea almost makes me cringe. He won’t raise his eyebrows when he finds me licking off the cream before eating an Oreo. Or how I like to add a spoon full of coffee to my tea.” He chuckled at her words. A warm feeling spreading through him. Knowing this was exactly who she was and he loved her just as it is. Nothing more, nothing less.

“He’ll keep me sane because at the end of the day he’ll be just like me and so, he’ll know I will do all the same for him. Nothing less.” She gave his hands a squeeze.

“Precisely…” He sighed and smiled at her, a smile that formed wrinkles to the side of his eyes proving how genuine and mischievous his smiling was all together,

“well I guess now you understand why I sometimes feel frustrated reading fiction. Or why I oppose the idea of opposite attraction. It might just feel phenomenal in fiction and books. The intimacy may respond like fireworks initially. And the idea may sound so fascinating but it belongs best in those books and that’s where it should stay. Because in bones and flash, it doesn’t last. Same characters last. Someone like you and me lasts.” He finished.

He freed his hands and squeezed her cheeks, seeing the redness crawling up her skin. She lightly threw her head back and chuckled softly before pushing him on the shoulder. He lost his balance and fell backwards. Eyes going wide with fake shock. She laughed again and stood up, before making a run for it towards the lawn. He laughed at her lighter mood and sprinted after her.