The Soulless Souls

the square root of 25

Ari didn't just read.

He annotated.

Every evening, when we sat at our table after dinner to read, he wrote on the pages with a blue-inked pen.

The first time I realised what he was doing I was flabbergasted. "What are you doing? Why are you doing this?"

He looked at me. "Annotating? I'm not sure... I like to comment on things, I guess. And it's relaxing. You should also try it out."

At that time, me, who hated reading with a passion, gave him a look that was sufficient enough for an answer but made him smile nonetheless.

His annotations-thingy-stuff didn't stop, of course. Sometimes, when he gave me one of his books to read, they were also annotated, and I read these short notices, too.

Secretly, I hoped to find out more about him without having to talk to him (because, to be honest, I sucked at communicating, among other things) and I was undeniably curious about him.

I admired him for being so dedicated to his annotations. He would sit until midnight and sometimes even long after, just to scribble in his books.

Just like now.

Today, I was quite cheerful and at peace. I had my first day at my new job, carrying out the weekly newspaper.

Two weeks ago, Ari helped to write a CV, just as he had promised. I skimmed through the daily papers for job offers that didn't demand special qualifications, and bam, here I was, a part timer every Friday noon.

Did I feel proud? Yes. Did I also regret that I hurt myself over something so trivial? Also, yes. Did I feel bad for lying to Ari about it? A big yes.

But right now, nothing of this seemed to matter.

The coffee mugs were empty by now, the night was dark and warm and it wasn't long until 1 AM.

I had just finished my second book this month and it laid closed on the table, my head using it as a pillow as I try to bring my thoughts about the story in order. My bare arms wrapped around my head, loosely.

This was what reading did to me: it got me thinking. Thinking my own thoughts, my own opinion of the characters and even got me questioning. It got me feelings. Feelings I didn't know I possessed.

If Aryan forced me to read in the beginning, he didn't have to anymore. I loved reading. I was addicted. Though, I wasn't sure if I was addicted to reading in general, or just the feelings it brought me.

"Are you done with your book?", Ari suddenly asked and I could hear the sudden snap of him closing his own book.

I nodded, absentmindedly. "M-hm."

"And? What do you think?" He took my arms to get a better look at my face but I didn't let him see the tears in my eyes.

"I think I have an existential crisis, Ari."

He chuckled. "Maybe it will comfort you to know that I thought the exact same thing. It will pass with the next book you start, don't worry."

"I don't think I will be ever able to read another book. My head is mush."

"That's how you know if a book was good. Annotating helps you to keep your thoughts in order. You should start to do it, too."

Still perplexed by the story I just finished I nodded. "I should."

Then, it was silent for a few minutes. I could hear him breathing and shifting and eventually opening his pen and I thought he would continue to read but what he did instead stunned me.