"I think I mentioned that there was a time where I wished to be an astronaut," she said, rather confused and contemplating, "but I never ended up pursuing it."
My expression must have shown my perplexity, for Harriet responded:
"What's the matter? You're sweating like crazy."
She pressed her palm on my forehead, while I was still baffled but more comforted now.
I rested my head on her shoulder. Our bodies were close enough that it felt like we were in front of a fireplace.
With my head on her shoulder, I could not tell what face she was making.
She was about to say something when I said quickly, "It's cold. Let me stay like this. Please."
I knew that it would end up tragic if I got closer to a fictional character.
She—Harriet—was someone that I projected my feelings to another person to.
I recalled my visit at the hospital where Justin was admitted to, spotting a layered, light-brown-haired older woman of maybe twenty-seven. I was only around nineteen then.
Though I never clarified the appearance of Harriet in the novel, she looked exactly as I remembered her.
When I first met her lookalike, I was only a feeble child with no skills in the arts of love.
If the rounds end, would our world go back to normal?
Would the fictional characters brought back to life by the narrative disappear?
"What are you, a child? Saying random stuff then sulking…"
As she touched my back, I embraced her. For a while, she did not reciprocate and actually hesitated. But, she embraced me back anyway.
-
1781
A dark brown haired adolescent about one hundred seventy centimeters tall stood in front of the Eisenblad State Hospital's entrance.
One could hear the loud chattering of patients and medical professionals alike.
It was not the type of scene Reverie was used to, and one he always tried to avoid. That being, crowds.
Biting his lip, he took a step back away, reluctant, and ran away from the hospital.
He spends the next few days inside his dorm, writing at least a minimum of five chapters or ten thousand words a day for his serialized novel, Imperfections of a Knight. He had written more than twenty chapters in two days once, but he had tried to lessen the amount since he was afraid of burning out.
This was the legacy his brother left him, after all.
For a moment, the thought of his brother made him stop writing. At that moment, Reverie wished that there was no afterlife.
Not that his brother would end up in hell. He himself would, for sure.
The tapping of a mechanical keyboard was the only sound in his dorm, which was smaller than a jail cell. With only a bed, toilet, sink, wardrobe, and a wooden desk and chair where he usually wrote. On the walls, a shelf filled with books such as the classic Ephrem the Syrian and a few posters of rock bands such as Que*n, Oas*s, VC/DC, Foo F*ghters, et cetera.
The screen illuminated Reverie's face in the darkness of his room, curtains closed shut.
While he enjoyed writing it, he couldn't help but feel guilty for having let down one of his few friends, Justin Fleming.
Just a month after they first met and whence Reverie had determined him as a beta reader, Justin was hospitalized because his heart disease was getting worse.
According to Justin, it was said by the doctor that it would be a miracle if he had lived by the next year.
Reverie knew all too well that Justin's salvation was his novel, even if he didn't think it was that good.
He was only seventeen when he first started writing it, just a few weeks after the death of his brother. Now, released from the mental ward after two years, at nineteen, he had accumulated nearly nine hundred thousand words. Though, he did have breaks once in a while, which was why he wrote so many chapters a day: to earn a stockpile.
The tapping of keycaps stopped, Reverie's fingers hovering above the letters.
I should visit Justin. It's been days since I last saw him.
The guilt was eating him alive.
He was never one to be consistent when it came to relationships.
And it's not like he'd die if they didn't talk for a week.
But he needed someone to review and proofread the latest chapters.
-
Once again, he stood in front of the dual sliding doors that are the entrance of the hospital.
His nails dug crescents into his palm, the chunky newly-invented laptop folded in his right arm.
Did Justin even want him to visit?
Hey, Reverie! The email that Justin sent him a week ago had said. Just because I'm hospitalized doesn't mean I don't want to read the new chapters :[ Laptops are expensive as oil since they just hit stores, so I can't read in the hospital unless you bring your laptop. Looking forward to it :]
The message echoed in his mind, but there was something else that lingered.
What if, he thought, he didn't mean it and is just taking pity on me?
Reverie, who grew up with low self-esteem, had thoughts that even he did not want to stay in his mind.
But these intrusive thoughts still came.
His legs shook like noodles, begging to collapse any time.
"Um, excuse me?" said a female's voice.
Unsteadily, he turned around.
An older woman, maybe twenty-seven, that wore formal clothing had interrupted his train of thoughts.
"...yes?"
Reverie's voice came out like a squeak as though he did not go through puberty.
He was facing downward in fear that he might stutter or say something he didn't mean if he had stared straight at her.
The woman did not say anything for a moment.
Until she took matters into her own hands and touched Reverie's chin, raising it to face her.
"Oh," she said, "I thought you were an intern."
He looked down at his clothes which were white.
Gulping, he finally took one good look at the woman.
Layered light brown hair cascaded down her shoulders and she wore a pantsuit that contrasted with her bright hazel eyes and pink plump lips.
For once in his life, Reverie felt his face turn red and steaming.