Almost a fairytale

I would have started this with a “once upon a time” but that phrase is too often used in fairytales and even if I was hoping that our story would become one, I know it won’t.

Fairytales would happen in a bucolic place but ours didn’t; an evidence that we are not set for a fairytale-like story. I was always a cynical person and cynics like me are always linked with negative descriptions. People see me as a selfish, quiet and detached person. At a certain degree, I know it was true and I’m glad they think of that because it helps me with my problem on dealing with people. Also, I don’t really want to say this but the use of social media has helped me realize that I’m an introvert; too exhausted for social interaction, so much self-awareness, enjoys solitude and independence more than I should. Definitely, I am not a loner, I feel glad with who I am, satisfied with what I do; read books, write poetry, watch movies and series or just stay in one corner and think. It was all so perfect, I need not to deal with people and give myself disappointments. It was splendid, until I met her and the word splendid did not really matter anymore.

She came into my life so sudden, which was so her. I couldn’t quite describe her except that she was ineffable. Cliché yes, but as a poet I couldn’t find a more appropriate word. Would you rather let me say that she was a dandelion in freezing winter, an offing sunrise, with comely and chatoyant eyes and a dulcet smile? She was a beauty, I know. But then, I’ve met so many girls like her so I didn’t really give a shit even if she had an evocative effect on me. I thought it was just ephemeral. Except that it wasn’t.

I hated her. I hated her jolly attitude. She talks, smiles and entertains just everyone who would roam around her even if it was obvious that some were actually hitting on her. What an ingenue. Well, she’s pretty so that’s given and it doesn't really have anything to do with my life. This, too would have ended here except that it didn’t.

It was in December. I was sitting freely in my favorite spot in the campus, reading a copy of The Picture Of Dorian Grey when her figure suddenly shadowed the sun. I used to see her everywhere, talking with people or her group of friends but that time she was alone. “Nice book you’ve got there,” she said. I stared at her for a moment and almost felt my muscles tense. “Can I sit here?” She asked. I nodded in the most discreet way I could ever imagine. Erstwhile, she and I just sat there. I tried hard to read the lines 'You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit' but ended up reading it for so many times. I was distracted by her presence; I’ve always been with everyone’s, so I put the book down. Then she talked again, asking my name so I told her what my name was.

“I always see you around, even in classes. But I never got the chance to talk to you because you always disappear. Not much up for people? Anyway, that’s a good book you are reading.” She continued.

“You’ve read it?” I asked, I was curious.

“The first book that I have,” she answered and flashed her smile.

That day, she was able to break the outer walls that I’ve built around me. For the second time, I thought it was short-lived. I mean, it's a common thing for me to talk with people, I just choose not to, so she talking to me was not really weird. But then we ended up talking for the next days. She talked about books and her favorite authors, saying she always had a “Favorite author of the month” and her favorite that time was Virginia Woolf. I like Virginia Woolf, too. She would talk about the stars and the night, and the time she sleeps, and the things about her parents and just everything. While my loosen self believed everything she said. Soon enough, I knew it, she has become a friend, a special one.

It was not my first time dealing with a person, but it was the first time that I've trusted someone so much and the very first, probably, that I've talked out my dreams and goals to someone.

And then came the what-if's.

I remember her asking me once. "What if I turned out to be a different person? I mean, not the cliche alien movies or what but just you know, someone different from the person I showed you? What if everything I told you was just a lie, or some pieces of those were not true? What would you do if you find out that I lied? Just what if?"

She was talking about her self. I remember her talking about her personality, admitting that she was a very good liar. And the next thing, she was laughing, saying it was all just a joke. Her questions were not serious.

Up until now, I haven't answered her. Even if she told me that it was not serious, I can't help but overthink. What if she didn't really mean to talk to me in the first place? I couldn't face the fact that it was possible. My mind was saying no. Not now. I can't face it right now. Even the thought of it makes my hopeful side crumble to pieces.

Almost as always, we are told that we meet people for they serve a purpose in our lives. I met her when I had a red light at my intersection but somehow, she was able to turn it into green. Never would I ask again what purpose she had for me, but I hope her stay would never perish until the end of time.

(From the journal of the most cynical guy I have ever met in my imagination.)