Unpredictability of Love

When You Become A Creep [Prologue]

It all started when I was sitting at local park, on one of the wooden benches. I had a bunch of books on my lap, all of them strictly educational. But, of course my attention wasn't on any of the books, oh no, like any other normal boy-crazy teenaged girls, I was focused on a boy standing a few metres away from me, not because I found him hot or anything, but for something else altogether.

Being the daughter of two highly reputed doctors means you have a shit load of pressure to do something equal to their career. As far as I know, most other doctors' kids ended up becoming doctors or engineers. So, when decided to leave science and do a majors in business and try to become a journalist, it wasn't well received by most of my extended family, which consists only of doctors. My parents supported me though, they promised to help me in anyway they could as long as my work helps the society in some way.

Yeah, my parents were pretty good people. Both of them became doctors not just to earn money, but because they could save lives, and if I were to become a journalist, they wanted me to do something good with the 'power of journalism', as they called it.

I didn't have anything against it. Even as a kid, my father's bedtime stories consisted of morals and inspirational quotes and the thought of helping people like my parents did was nailed into my head.

What they didn't know was, I'd already started working on that dream.

Few months ago I wrote a small article on "Homeless Children Of America" and posted it on a website for amateur writers, using a fake name ( because I was too shy to use my real one). The article, surprisingly, was read and liked by more than a hundred people, which was a great achievement for me. A lot of the readers seemed to like it because they could relate to it and most of them who had been unfortunate enough to experience not having a home at some in their lives, completely agreed with the reasons for homelessness that I had written in the article.

How did I get so close to the truth? I talked, to every single single homeless person I could, got to know them and wrote about them.

After the success the article, I decided to write about how increased college tuition fees was leading to drug consumption in college students, a pretty long and far fetched topic but, I was sure that the pressure to pay high tuition fees, along with the college related work could force people to turn to illegal drug consumption, even if it only gave them a brief reprieve from their burden.

Now, all I needed was facts to prove my theory right, and the only person who would be able to give those facts would have to be a person who had experienced it .

And that, people, is the reason I started spending most of my afterschool hours at a park, watching a college student doing drugs every day at the park.

I'd already spent an entire month watching him but still didn't have the courage to go up to him and ask him to tell me his story.

I know journalists are supposed to be able to worm stories out of people and I know I should just go up to him and talk to him, maybe he wasn't as scary as he looked.

So far, the only information I'd been able to gather about him was his love for completely black clothes which he wore even in the highest of temperatures ( something I could relate to, actually, I'd fallen in love with black, baggy clothing about a year ago) and the fact that he smoked continuously 4 pm to 7 pm. He never missed a day, never came with friends and never came without that huge bag pack, which contained books and was the only indication of his education.

Soon enough (well, not exactly soon enough) I realized that the constant watch I had on him was creepy. Like, very creepy. Watching him became a habit, a bad habit, one in which I knew exactly how many he was going to smoke a day, and how he was going to discard each one, the hand-gestures he would make whenever his lighter didn't work and the worst of all, I knew that he was utterly incapable of smiling. It was a miracle that he hadn't noticed me for so long, and all I could do was wish that he wouldn't until I had the courage to go up to him and talk like a mature journalist would, not a creepy googly-eyed girl with crazy hair stalking her first crush.

The wish only lasted only as long as wishes do, and one day, he finally did notice me, and that's the day my tragic story started. At the end of the story, I fell headlong into the most deadly thing in the world, which fancy people call 'love'.

Although I knew it was dangerous, I never expected it to be so unpredictable.

Author's note: Hey, so that is the first part of the story, I know it does not look very interesting, but please give it a try, it gets better, even if I do say so myself.

Thanks

Cyan

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