He Who Became Real

I flipped through the pages of the book I'm currently reading. I fixed my glasses a little because they were slightly distorted, but my vision was still a little fuzzy, so I just took them off and wiped them softly till they were clear.

When my visions started to improve, I grinned and resumed my reading.

"Pene, are you going home yet? It's getting dark."

When I looked around the library, it appeared that I was the only one around. I then peered out the window and noticed that the darkness had only just begun to nibble away at the formerly brilliant clouds.

"Can I perhaps borrow this book?" " I rose from my seat and approached Mrs. Javier, who, despite the stern expression on her face, had a pleasant manner.

"Of course. Just write your name and the title of the book you want to borrow here," she added before handing me a logbook with the names of the pupils who also borrowed the textbook.

I had chosen to leave after writing my name, but I hadn't been able to leave when I noticed a red book in the corner of the library. I would have loved to grab it just in case someone had just left it and maybe come back to look for it. So, in the end, I just left the library.

Harbor University closes at exactly six o'clock, however, it is a college department to be considered. It's a private school, but it's not as huge as other private colleges, and it's not as small either, it's just fine.

I went through the calm corridors till I was finally out of university. I don't need to ride a tricycle or any other vehicle because the apartment I'm living in is just a short walk away.

I yawned because, even though it was still early, I was beginning to feel drowsy.

Before I go over to the kitchen, I place my bag on a single sofa. I took a peek at the pitcher I had left on the table this morning because I was rushing to get to school. I sighed before I put it away.

I just prepared noodles that night since I was out of supplies. I also got up early the next day because my first lesson started at seven o'clock, but when I arrived, there was no one in the room.

"Penelope!"

I turned to my left as I heard someone yell out my name. Cario, one of my block mates, was racing in my direction when I noticed him. As I met his pleasant gaze, I furrowed my brow.

"We don't have a class today because the professors have a last-minute meeting," he explained.

I hastily avoided looking at him because he was staring at me. I've known Cario since high school, and there isn't a week that goes by that he doesn't tell me how he feels. When it comes to expressing his emotions, he is very vocal. Even though I told him he couldn't flirt with me, he wouldn't quit taunting me. Not that I don't like him; Cario is a good man, and many pretty girls wish to be noticed by someone like him.

People always told me that I'm lucky since I'm the one he wanted to court; after all, why would he choose someone like me out of all the girls?

Even if that's the case, I'm looking for something in a man that I can't find in him. That's it; I have no idea what else to say.

"I'll just go to the library," I muttered, turning away from him, but he abruptly joined me on the walk.

"I'll accompany you," he said and got ahead of me. "I'm heading to the cafeteria, and we'll be passing by the library, so I'll escort you," he replied, and I couldn't complain any longer.

He follows through on his words. He simply escorted me and did not attempt to enter the library because he departed immediately after.

I contacted Mrs. Javier, who was frantically arranging a few paperwork. Before I entered the library, I just scribbled my name in the logbook. Because there are no classes, there are a few pupils present.

I reached for my journal after sitting on the side table. I prefer it here at the library because it's quiet, and it's one of the few places where I can think clearly. I come here to read and make up stories when I don't have work. I suppose it's a hobby.

I've written and completed a few novels, some of which were shared on social media; there haven't been many reads, but my accomplishment is that I can write a novel even if no one reads it.

It's frustrating at times because no one seems to value your work, but I keep writing anyway. It's not all that bad, especially if you're having a good time. I sometimes don't realize I've been writing for almost a year because I'm having so much fun with it.

When a plot suddenly jumped into my head, I came to a halt and pondered. It isn't new because I have a storyline that I want to create; the problem is that I still need to think about the plot properly so that I would not have a difficult time.

I looked at the few words I had written in my journal. My brows furrowed, and I simply brushed and erased it.

I was deep in thought when my heel brushed up against what was under the table. I bent down in awe to see what was there. When I noticed a red book, my eyes narrowed. It's roughly the size of my journal, but much thicker. I haven't seen any designs either.

That is what I did.

If I'm not mistaken, this was the same book I spotted the day before. If that's the case, no one is taking it just yet.

I opened it and placed it on the table. When I realized it was a book, I stumbled. A book without a title. How strange. How could someone have left this here, or maybe the owner didn't read it and just left it? I sighed deeply. Perhaps he or she doesn't like old books like this.

Is this something I should keep? It's a surprise no one took it. It appears that the actual owner has no intention of taking it any longer because he should have taken it yesterday.

I examined the book's pages, hoping to find the owner's name, but there was none.

The book is heavy, but because I'm a fast reader, I'm confident I'll finish it in three days. Even though I have no idea what kind of story this is, I am intrigued to learn more about it.

I didn't read it first and just placed it in my luggage since I'll still have to finish the plot I was thinking about earlier. I'm attempting to write a narrative in a genre that I'm not fond of, but because I wanted to see where my writing skills could take me, I don't see anything wrong with that. After all, exploring means improving.

It took me a long time for me to come up with a plot till the second period arrived.

The rest of the day worked perfectly. When afternoon arrived, I decided to go to the convenience store to stock up on supplies. I then returned home.

When I spotted the threatening weather, I shot a quick check out the window. Heavy showers, strong winds, and weak lightning are expected. Because I don't have a television in my apartment, I can't watch weather reports.

I could still hear the pounding rain outside after 10 p.m. while I lay in bed. It's the middle of June, but the temperature is a little cool, which is fine with me because I prefer cold temperatures because they make me feel more at ease.

I simply groaned and took up the scarlet book I'd discovered earlier in the library. I opened it and thought of reading the first page.

***

Russel Celvestrian.

An arrogant, rude, and a damn womanizer. And what do we have here? Freakingly handsome and hot. That's how people described him. From the looks up to his luxurious things, who wouldn't fall for a guy like him?

***

Because of what I had read, my two brows melded closer. Is this a love story?

Who wouldn't be smitten by a guy like him? So, if I'm one of the characters in the novel and we've crossed paths, maybe I'm the one who wouldn't fall for him. I'm referring to the fact that I've been making up my characters based on my ideal. And being arrogant, disrespectful, and a womanizer is not on my list of qualities. I prefer a gentleman with a nice heart, and not someone who does nothing but hurt someone's feelings, especially if he would just play with her.

Perhaps this is one of the reasons I don't entertain other males as much as other women do because my standards are just so different. I have high expectations for males, but not to the point where I fantasize about meeting someone like that. That is extremely unlikely to happen. And if there is, I may not deserve him. He was far too ideal for me. He deserves someone as perfect as he is.

I shook my head and went back to reading.