Felix's pov
If you have an 'acquaintance' who is devoted to books then congrats to you because you are a very lucky person. The most convenient thing about them is that you will be able to get to know about the preferred romantic side of a bookworm just by asking them about their favorite scenarios from romantic books. It doesn't even sound that creepy and gives a better result than if you directly ask, "What kinda date do you prefer?"
That's definitely not what I intended to know when I asked Maisara to read me her favorite scenarios. But well, that came as a bonus. Now I have a pretty good idea about what kinda romantic stuff she would like and what kinda date she would prefer.
But as we know, according to Newton's third law of motion, for every action in nature there is an equal and opposite reaction. Similarly, romantic books have both effects. I've already mentioned the good side. The bad side is the male leads of these books.
They raise the standard so high that real men can't even begin to compete with them.
I'm not exaggerating one bit. I haven't read one single romantic book and don't have any idea of any of these plots. I know the side stories that Maisara has described and the scenes that she has read out loud for me. Yet I can assure you that real men don't come anywhere near those fictional goddamn guys. We have already lost the battle to them even before it begins.
In that case, there is no doubt that the perfect picture of her future partner in Maisara's mind is just like one of those fictional guys. Now how to be that guy is the main problem.
"Who's the most perfect fictional boyfriend according to you?" I ask her the next question. It wasn't about any scene but whatever. I need to know the answer to this question.
She closes the book on her lap and turns her head around. Dark orbs collide with light ones. I notice the delight in them that she has found in my question. Then she looks away. Her eyebrows furrow a little as she starts pondering the answer to my question. Her gaze runs over the shelves of books in front of us as if they held the answer. Technically, they do. But she's the one who actually knows the answer.
"Ah, that's a difficult one," she responds but it doesn't seem that much difficult for her. If anything, she looks amused and satisfied by my question. Her eyes roam around the books scattered around us as well before they finally fix on me again.
"It's not like only one of them is my favorite book boyfriend," she pauses before turning her body towards me. "The same cause as why only one book is not my favorite one. They are all good on different significant points that I just can't tell one is best from the rest."
"Still, I can point out two of them as the most preferable boyfriend in my opinion." She looks around the books again and picks up a red one.
A Court of Thorns and Roses.
"If you say that I can get anything and everything like unrealistic and fantasy stuff and all, then I'll say Rhysand is the best book boyfriend ever. But if I consider being far more realistic here, then I'll pick," she pauses again, looking for the book that contains the 'far more realistic' unreal boyfriend. Finally, she finds the brownish-white book and pulls it to her lap.
Twisted Games.
"Rhys Larsen would be the one," comes out her almost beaming words as my eyes meet hers.
I hold back a smirk as I say, "You seem to have a thing for all the Rhyses."
She shrugs nonchalantly but I catch the gleam of amusement in her eyes. "Well, what can I say, all the Rhyses do it better."
My mind takes up the lead to emphasize the wrong meaning of her words and I can't resist asking, "All the Rhyses do what better exactly?"
The moment those words leave my mouth, I know what I did. Even I get a shiver from the way I said it. Even if she meant it in the right way, my words sounded nowhere near right.
She must have felt it too as her eyes widen at first. She doesn't say anything for one good minute and doesn't even move. I suppress the cringe crawling up my skin. I probably shouldn't have said that. I'm pretty sure my heart will stop working totally if she continues being silent for one more second.
Luckily, she decides to answer, "All the Rhyses do better at being the best book boyfriend."
Her eyes still have that strange gleam in them. That gleam indicates something different, something bold and dark, something-
I shake my head to get rid of the weird thoughts clouding my consciousness. I'm just imagining things, a little bit too weird things, to be exact. It's all in my head and I need to stop overthinking before I end up doing something embarrassing again.
I clear my throat and take an attempt to change the topic. "Describe why they are the best book boyfriends."
The strange look in her eyes is replaced with excitement. Her face lights up instantly. Still, her whole posture remains calm. She flashes a grin before proceeding to tell me why she thinks 'all the Rhyses do better at being the best book boyfriend'.
A few minutes later-
After at least fifteen minutes of listening to her reasoning about why fictional men are better than real men in terms of romance, I have reached the conclusion that fictional men are superior only because they are fictional. Because some of the things they do, while they are in love, are undoubtedly creepy and illegal as well. Like almost all of them at one point or another are involved in stalking their love interest. That's creepy as hell and at some point, is illegal even.
Then comes the most interesting part where they kill others, men particularly, if they so much even look at their lovers in the wrong way. That's a heinous crime! I mean I agree with the fact that one shouldn't look at others the way those imbeciles do. But the point is they are romanticizing murder! Are you kidding me now?
That's why I believe that they are only considered better because they are fictional. I'm pretty sure if I stalk someone or kill for someone, they would not be impressed at all by that. Rather, they would straight out hand me over to the police.
It's also not the readers' fault that they are impressed by stuff like this. Romantic authors have amazing manipulative power it seems that leaves the readers no choice but to romanticize crimes like these.
However, I'm not gonna share this theory with Maisara and ruin her excitement. And she has a brain and I'm pretty sure she's already well aware of the fact that I've just found out. So instead, I go on to the next question. "Read me your favorite love confession."
Unlike other scenes, she doesn't waste one moment thinking for the answer. It is as if she has been waiting for this question. Her hands rummage through the pile of books around us and pull out a book with a light pink cover. I recognize it immediately. I don't catch the name but I remember it contains two male leads and one female. One of the males is an abusive psycho and the other is as sweet as honey. That was Maisara's word, not mine.
"Again it's not the best love confession in the world but it's close to my heart," Maisara voices out as she flips through the pages to get to the scene. I don't say anything in reply, just patiently wait for her to read it.
Her fingers pause at the near end of the book and her eyes scan the page. Finally, they fix on something, possibly the confession scene.
Readjusting herself on the sofa, she starts reading the scene out loud. Her melodious voice starts carrying the words up in the air. ""Lily," he whispers, still holding me tightly."
I notice in amusement how she changes her tone according to the expression of that character. ""I know this is the last thing you need to hear right now. But I have to say it because I've walked away from you too many times without saying what I really want to say.""
She knows exactly how to read, where to pause, where to give which expression, where to lower her voice, where to raise her voice, and where to stay neutral. It's as if she can summon these characters into the real world. If I look around carefully, I'm pretty sure I'll be able to notice Lily and that guy somewhere here around the library performing this scene. That may not be real, maybe my imagination but with Maisara reading it, it's pretty much real.
Her voice starts floating in the air again. "He pulls back to look down at me and when he sees my tears, he brings his hands up to my cheeks."
I watch her as she pauses and takes a slow and deep breath. I realize without anyone saying it that the confession is gonna start now. ""In the future . . . if by some miracle you ever find yourself in the position to fall in love again . . . fall in love with me." He presses his lips against my forehead. "You're still my favorite person, Lily. Always will be." "
A brief moment of silence. She closes the book and looks up at me. The moment our eyes meet, I realize all I am saying in my mind is not to end up crying and embarrassing myself in front of her again.
"He didn't say "I love you"." That's the first thing that I blurt out after a long moment of eye contact and silence full of unknown tension. Her lips curl up slightly, forming a soft glowy smile. Her eyes shine with appreciation and some other emotion I can't put my hands around.
"He didn't," she agrees with me softly. "And that's kind of what makes this confession so special. Among many other things."
And suddenly, the realization hits me. Fictional men are not only special because they do illegal stuff and the author romanticizes them. They are special because they do stuff that real men can never do. Like this confession.
I don't think I'll ever be able to make a whole-ass normal confession without once uttering "I love you", let alone a confession this beautiful. And I'm pretty sure no real-life men will be able to do so. These words are bound to come in confession or else you won't be able to express your feelings. That's what I used to think. And this guy here in this book proved me horribly wrong by doing that impossible thing with so much ease and making the confession so fucking beautiful.
Maisara and other romance readers are right without a doubt. Fictional men are on a whole ass different level that real-life men will probably never be able to reach.
"Well?" Maisara's voice pulls my attention back to her. I realize she's waiting to hear my thoughts about the confession. Do I really need to say it out loud? Can't she already see on my face what I'm feeling right now? I've always been famous for letting my emotions show on my face. Doesn't it work for her as well? Or am I unconsciously hiding them when I'm around her?
"Words fail to express just how good this confession is." I voice out the thoughts in my mind, failing to find the correct words to describe how good it was. It seems to satisfy her as her smile widens and she nods at me.
"You know what's the most unfair thing about these books?" Maisara asks, her eyes dropping to the pink cover as she runs her fingers over the edges. Without bothering for my answer, she continues, "The character with whom the other character will end up always seems to see them right through everything." She takes a little pause before adding. "Even through the hard and cruel shells that make them look like a villain in the eyes of the world."
With her tone, it doesn't take much effort for me to realize that she's not only talking about the characters of books but about the real world, more precisely, about herself. In an instant, Ian's words come to my mind.
There must be a super strong reason for her conversion.
I don't know what happened to her that influenced the conversion. Or to be exact, I don't know anything that happened in her life during these past years. but it's confirmed that the 'super strong reason', as Ian pointed out, was something so serious that it changed her drastically. Long gone that sweet, shy, petite girl. A strong, mature, and bold woman replaced her. Not everyone sees through that hard exterior of hers. Not everyone realizes that she too has a heart.
"I don't think it's that much unfair," I say lightly, leaning my head on top of the backrest of the sofa. "If you think of it this way that you don't usually go around showing and telling people everything about you. You mostly show some common characteristics with everyone. And those parts of you that are, as you said, 'shells' or the exterior version of yours are meant for everyone to know. What's inside those shells is what you will only allow showing to your special someone, someone with whom you are comfortable with everything and someone who won't judge you. Similar thing happens in the books. Those characters know about that dark side of the other character only because they are the special someone for them."
Still keeping eye contact with me, she turns her body fully towards me and leans her head on the backrest as well. Her hand goes beneath her cheek.
"You do have a point." Her words come out as whispers from her pink-tainted lips that are just centimeters away from me. I realize the air around us has changed suddenly. That unknown tension is back. I don't know if it's just me who is feeling it. Suddenly, I'm finding it very hard to keep my eyes locked with hers when those lips are drawing my attention towards them dangerously more.
"Maisara?" I don't intend to but my voice comes out as a strained and rough whisper. I'm not quite sure but I think I have just seen her shivering from that tone.
"Yes?" Her voice has changed its tone too. Damnit! That breathless whispers of hers will leave me awake at night for a long time.
I try to keep my voice normal as I say, "I know I promised but I can't read those books. I'm sorry."
I almost wince seeing how the stars of amusement in her eyes die down by my words. She quickly pulls her head off of the sofa and sits straight. I remind myself to never ever try to do this again when I see how easily one word from my mouth is enough to make a crack in her heart.
Her defensive mode switches on almost instantly. With a fake smile, she starts, "Oh, y-yeah, it's fine. Don't worry about it. It's no-"
"I want you to read them for me." I cut her off to not let it go any further as it's already hard to see her like this. She pauses abruptly. Eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion, the word that comes out of her mouth is, "Pardon?"
I suppress the grin while trying to explain to her what I meant. "I want you to read those books for me. Just like today. Line by line. Page by page. Scene by scene. Starting to finishing. Can you do that?"
She takes a while to process it. I don't know why it is taking her so long to understand that. I'm guessing she's either too happy and shocked to respond or she's not finding the words after the realization of how much work she will have to do if she agrees with me.
Still considering, she asks, "Why do you need me to read it to you? I'm pretty sure you know how to read." She pauses, her eyes observing me with sudden intensity.
"Or did you forget that hearing my reading?" With a surprise, I realize by her mocking tone and twitching lips that she's joking. The cold-hearted Maisara is actually joking. What a great day to have in my life!
I shrug simply in response. "I know how to read. But thanks to your pretty perfect reading, the pleasure of my own reading is now ruined for me. I won't be able to read anything and enjoy it anymore. You will have to do that for me."
She tilts her head to the right. With a cocky grin on her lips, she says, "Of course, I can do that. I'm a responsible citizen who takes measures for whatever damage she has cost. And in this case, we need a schedule. What about around 7 every evening?"
"Sounds alright to me. Place?"
"Here if you are okay with it."
"I see no problem."
She grins widely. "It's fixed then. Every evening around 7, we are coming here to read books."
She is about to say more but a silent vibrating sound prevents her from doing so. It's her phone. She pulls it out and looks at the screen. Her smile immediately falls off and the grumpy look is back. Seeing how the name of the caller is enough to take away her happiness for the second time of the day, I feel a strange kind of rage making its way up my veins. It's a rage strong enough to kill whoever is responsible to be a threat to her happiness.
At that moment, the conversation between me and Ian from this morning replays in my mind. I remember telling him that he's thinking way too ahead and there's no way what he's suggesting is gonna happen any time soon. I didn't believe it myself entirely. But now, it feels like I'm probably gonna need his advice again pretty soon.
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