Only In Books. . .

"Wow! You are just like Margo Roth Speigelman!" I exclaim. She acts fictional but is real.

"Margo Roth who?" She asked in confusion. I facepalmed.

"Don't tell me you haven't read 'Paper Towns'." She shook her head. Oh my God! Who is this girl? "Why? John Green is a great writer."

"For you. It must be. But for English Literature-almost-degree-holders, Shakespeare is our God!" She looked up at the sky.

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I am Matt. Actually Matthew Gary Scott. I know that's an absurd and long name. Blame my parents! Please, because of them I have been shut in four walls of luxury.

One day, I was walking school from home and I heard a storyteller. Her voice came out with confidence. Her stories didn't make sense, but she was able to make an audience.

Her history is boring and interesting like the Egyptian civilization. Our chemistry is of friendship with elements of love and negative charge of class distinction. Physics and maths is not her piece of cake but literature is a part of her.

Come with me and experience life through the eyes of a socially confident yet financially wrecked girl. Experience the learning struggles of upper and lower class manners. Experience the success of passion and art. And the failure in the exam of life.

Life written like never before. Cry, laugh, be angry for once and be thankful for every moment.

For she believed in philosophy and said, "Thankfulness does not come naturally. Be thankful for each moment. Good or bad. For who knows that a moment will soon become a memory buried beneath the Earth. We are writers of our own lives so in the end always believe that if we are written then we are different."

And her name was a mystery itself. But I always knew it. Her name was Isla Juliet Roberts. Long and bookishly appropriate.