I don’t know if I have any kind of talent. Half the time, I can’t even tell the difference in what I have written. Maybe it is sublime or maybe it is a cat turd. Whichever may be the case I just enjoy the space I have been give where I share my stories I might as well be the one of those millions of mediocre guys who had a dream. Then I met her.She approached me through my Blog. “I love the pictures you paint with your words,” she said in her mail. When I read that, I am not lying, I started to blush. Appreciation is always welcomed by a writer and she hit all the right points. Soon enough I was sitting next to her in a coffee shop.
“So you want to be a famous Author?” She asked. One thing about her was that she always smiled. One of those faces where the lips would always curl. Added the crimson color lipstick made the words coming out of her mouth ever so delightful.
“Famous . . . I would like too,” I said. Then I took a sip of coffee. When I looked at her face, her eyes stared at me like my answer was not enough. I needed to say more. So I continued, “What I feel is that, somewhere in a different life, I might as well be a famous author.”
“What do you mean?” She curiously asked.
“Being famous may not be in my future. Well, I am living in a reality where the only outlet I have is my blog where I share these stories. But somewhere there must be a different reality, a different universe where I am a famous author. Right now my stage, and my audience is my Blog.”
“I think you are wrong,” I will have my reality in this life only. There is no one stopping me from getting what I want and why would I let some other reality of me have all the fun,” She said cheerfully.
“I guess, I never thought about my dream that way.” I said.
The way she spoke with the passion she had. Her hands waved around supporting her words. I was left speechless. We talked for a while. Actually we talked for more than five hours. All the time she kept mesmerizing me with her thoughts.
“I hope to read your book soon,” she said smiling, as we were about to get up.
“I hope to see you again,” I replied.
“Well for that, you have to come to U.K. I am leaving for further studies. I want to become a journalist. Maybe someday I would be sitting across to you, taking an interview and then you can buy me coffee.” She said. I am not lying, but I believed her.
Three years Later:
“So the final question. When can we expect the next book?” The interviewer asked. Sitting across to her, I kept having a familiar feeling. Like we have met her before. It was like the song that gets stuck in your head.
“It will be soon,” I replied.
“Thanks for the interview, best of luck for your next book,” She said and smiled. I don’t know why but I started to blush and look down at my feet. She got up and started putting all her things back in her bag. I was standing trying to figure out where I have seen her before. So I finally asked, “Excuse me Miss . . .?”
“Anaya.” She replied.
“Anaya, have we met before?
“I don’t think so, I would have remembered your face,” She replied.
Then I just asked, “If you are free, can we get a cup of coffee sometime?”
“Sure I would love to.”
