A Fictional Love Story

Lia: Encounters Never Expected

Red was like a riddle I couldn't quite solve. One minute, he'd show flashes of vulnerability—a glimpse behind the cold exterior—and the next, he'd retreat, leaving me wondering if I had imagined the whole thing. It was maddening. More than once, I found myself questioning every interaction we had. Was he just being friendly? Was I reading too much into things? Or was there something more simmering beneath the surface that he didn't want to admit?

The worst part was, I couldn't figure out how I felt about him either. Red wasn't Ten, and I had to remind myself of that constantly. But as much as I tried to separate the two in my mind, I found myself getting drawn deeper into Red's mysteriousness. He was real, complicated, confusing—and I wasn't sure if I was getting closer to him, or further away.

It was during one of those quiet nights at the convenience store, after a long day at the bookstore, that the tension between us came to a head.

We were sitting in our usual spot, noodles in hand, the convenience store as empty as ever. I watched him, the light from above casting sharp shadows on his face. He looked deep in thought, his eyes distant, as if he were somewhere else entirely. And I couldn't take it anymore.

I set my cup down, letting out a quiet sigh. "Red?"

He glanced up at me, his usual cool expression firmly in place. "Yeah?"

I hesitated, unsure how to even ask the question that had been gnawing at me for weeks. But the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Do you... like me?"

Red's eyes flickered, but his expression didn't change. He stayed quiet for a moment, too long of a moment, and my heart sank as the silence stretched on. He didn't answer directly, just looked at me with that same cryptic, unreadable gaze.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "You're always sending mixed signals. I don't know where I stand with you. Sometimes I feel like we're close, like there's something between us... but then you pull away, and I don't know what to think."

Red leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting away from me as if he were trying to find the right words. But whatever he was thinking, he wasn't saying it. He stayed silent, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming lightly on the table.

I let out a shaky breath, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Red, I just need to know. Do you like me, or am I imagining things?"

He still didn't answer, just met my gaze with that same unreadable look. It wasn't indifference, not exactly. There was something there, something hidden behind his walls. But he wouldn't let me see it.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low. "Lia... it's not that simple."

I felt a knot form in my stomach. "What's not simple about it?"

Red shook his head, clearly frustrated with himself. "It just isn't. There's more to it than you think."

I stared at him, waiting for more, but he didn't elaborate. And that hurt more than any answer he could've given me. The ambiguity, the uncertainty—it was driving me crazy.

I stood up abruptly, pushing my chair back. "I can't keep doing this, Red. I need to know where we stand."

He looked up at me, his expression softening just a fraction, but still, he didn't say anything. Just like every other time I had tried to get closer, he kept his walls firmly in place.

Frustrated, I grabbed my bag. "I'm going to the bookstore tomorrow for a signing event. The author of The Story of Ten is doing a book signing. You don't have to come if you don't want to."

Red's expression changed slightly, something flickering in his eyes when I mentioned the author. But he quickly masked it, leaning forward with his arms on the table.

"I'll come," he said quietly.

The next day, I was pacing in front of the bookstore, clutching my worn copy of The Story of Ten. I had been excited for this event for weeks—the chance to meet the author who had created the world I had gotten lost in so many times. I had imagined what I would say, how I would tell her how much Ten meant to me, how he had become my favorite character in a sea of fictional heroes.

But my mind was elsewhere, clouded with thoughts of Red and the conversation we had the night before. He was so close to admitting something, I could feel it. And yet, he hadn't. I still didn't know what he was thinking, what he felt.

Red arrived a few minutes later, hands in his pockets, his usual detached expression firmly in place. He gave me a small nod, and I tried to muster a smile, though it didn't quite reach my eyes.

"Ready?" I asked, holding up my book.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice flat, but there was something in his posture—something tense. I wondered if it was the crowds, or maybe the event itself, but something about Red felt off.

As we entered the bookstore, it was buzzing with excitement. A line had already formed near the front, and the staff was setting up chairs and tables for the signing. I clutched my copy of the book tighter, my nerves starting to bubble up.

Red followed silently, his eyes scanning the room as if he were looking for something—or someone.

"I'm surprised you wanted to come," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "I didn't think book signings were your thing."

He didn't respond right away, his gaze still fixed on the stage where the author would soon appear. "They're not," he admitted quietly.

"Then why—"

Before I could finish my question, the crowd suddenly erupted in applause as the author walked onto the stage. My heart skipped a beat, excitement and awe coursing through me as I watched her take her seat behind the signing table.

She looked different from what I had imagined—taller, sharper, with an air of confidence that commanded the room. Her name, Jasmine Carter, was written in bold letters on the banner behind her, and I could feel my palms sweating as I stepped closer to the line.

But as I glanced at Red, I saw his face tighten, his jaw clenched. His eyes were fixed on Jasmine, but the look on his face wasn't admiration. It was something darker, something like... dread.

"Red?" I whispered, my stomach twisting. "Are you okay?"

His hands curled into fists in his pockets, his expression hardening. "I didn't realize she was the author," he muttered.

I blinked, confused. "What? Do you know her?"

Red didn't answer, his gaze never leaving the stage. The tension in his body was palpable, and for the first time, I realized something was very, very wrong.

"She's... she's my ex," he finally said, his voice barely audible over the chatter of the crowd.

The ground felt like it shifted beneath me. "What?"

Red let out a long breath, his face tight. "Jas. She's my ex-girlfriend."

I stared at him, stunned. The author of The Story of Ten—the book I had fallen in love with—was Red's ex? My mind struggled to process the information, the weight of it crashing down on me. Suddenly, all the pieces clicked into place. His reluctance, his distance, the reason why he had been so cold when I compared him to Ten.

Ten wasn't just a character to Red. He was part of Jasmine's world. And that world was something Red clearly didn't want to revisit.

I took a step back, my heart racing. "I... I didn't know."

Red looked at me, his eyes dark and filled with something I couldn't quite place. "Yeah," he said quietly. "There's a lot you don't know."

The line moved forward, but I was frozen in place, my grip tightening on the book in my hands. I had come here to meet the author of my favorite story, but now all I could think about was the storm brewing inside Red—the storm that I was now caught in the middle of.

Suddenly, meeting Jasmine Carter didn't seem so important anymore.

I was standing next to the real story, and it was a lot messier than I had ever imagined.