Chiara's mistake was talking to him for the first time, Jasper's mistake was confessing the truth to her.
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Chiara led a monotonous and uneventful life until she met the enigmatic Jasper...
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I could feel my hands growing colder and clammy, the sensation permeating even into my dreams. Meanwhile, her hands were warm and comforting, a soothing contrast to my own. I mused for a split second about what she might be thinking about my hands, were they as cold as they felt to me? Or did she find them warm and inviting in their own way? The thought lingered in my mind as I started looking around us, starting to tremble.
It was some kind of basement, but to my surprise, it wasn't as cold as I had expected. I eagerly took a sip of the beer I grabbed, and it was like tasting glory. The refreshing sensation as it went down my throat felt like I was experiencing my first beer all over again. I turned my head to check if Chiara was still there, and to my relief, she was smiling at me. In that moment, I couldn't help but let go of her hand reflexively. Even though she looked confused, I tried to play it cool by winking at her, even though I felt silly and nervous on the inside.
"So, now what?" She asked, looking at everything around us.
"Do you think someone lives here?" The emptiness of the station certainly suggested that it was possible. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this place than met the eye.
We could very possibly be intruding into someone's private space. The self-confidence that had filled me just a moment ago started to slowly dissipate and I was once again that anxious boy who always needed to act exactly how it was expected of him. I wondered if it was the right thing to do, or if it even mattered at all.
What if we were caught? What if we were mistaken for burglars? What would be the consequences to entering unexpectedly into someone else's dream?
These thoughts raced through my mind, and I began to feel more and more apprehensive. Perhaps we should have waited or asked for permission first. But then again, maybe this was our only chance to uncover the truth. We had to take this risk, no matter how uncomfortable it made us feel.
But besides all my anxiety, the biggest worry of them all was to make sure she didn't notice that.
"I think we are the only ones here," my companion whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our footsteps on the dusty floor.
As we approached an old pool table covered in light blue felt, I couldn't help but wonder if she meant we were alone in the basement or in the whole world around us. The silence was so complete, it was as if time itself had stopped in this forgotten corner of the universe.
But I felt that way too.
Her eyes were fixed on the billiard ball that she was holding. It was the number eight ball and its black color was painted on it with such precision that it looked like a work of art. She held it up and shook it vigorously, as if to test its weight and balance. Her eyes followed the ball's movement for a few seconds before she finally set it down on the table. I couldn't help but wonder what was going through her mind as she examined the intricacies of the ball's design and construction. She gave it a turn and I realized it wasn't a regular 8 ball, but a magic one.
