Cupid's Perfect Match ( Cupid by FIFTY FIFTY)

Chapter 4: Not a hallucination after all?

Days turned into weeks, and life began to settle into a familiar rhythm. My studies resumed, and I endeavored to regain a semblance of normalcy. The encounter with Cupid and the enigmatic letter had gradually faded to the background of my mind, seemingly supplanted by the demands of my daily routine. Yet, the memory remained like a lingering question, occasionally resurfacing when I least expected it.

One afternoon, I found myself in the university library, engrossed in my astronomy research. A subject that used to captivate me—the exploration of space and stars—now felt distant, as if the connection that once bound us had frayed. With a heavy sigh, I tried to refocus my attention on the textbook before me, but my thoughts kept drifting. Studying was no longer the refuge it had been, and my yearning for companionship intensified.

Finally, I abandoned my seat and ventured outside. The cacophony of voices and footsteps engulfed me as I navigated through the crowd of my classmates, exchanging greetings with those who passed by. Seeking solace, I found an unoccupied spot overlooking a tranquil water fountain. The gentle sounds of flowing water provided a temporary escape, a sanctuary from the chaos that surrounded me. This place was usually teeming with people, but for now, I had the space to myself.

"Hello, Aifika!" a voice suddenly shattered the serenity, a shout that reverberated painfully within my head. I instinctively clutched my temples, a sharp ache lancing through my skull as if I'd been struck. My discomfort must have been evident, as the source of the disturbance quickly approached, apologizing and expressing concern for my well-being.

It was Cupid—or the man who had claimed to be Cupid. I managed a weak smile as I assured him that I was okay, even though my throbbing head suggested otherwise. He mused that he hadn't realized humans were so fragile, his words carrying a mix of curiosity and bemusement.

Squinting at him through my discomfort, I retorted, "Not all humans are like this. I just happen to dislike sudden or excessive stimuli." As the pain began to subside, I added, "And it's not very amusing, by the way."

Cupid, looking mildly abashed, inquired further. "Why are you the only one who feels that way?"

My gaze dropped, my voice a touch hesitant. "My health isn't the best," I admitted, a flicker of vulnerability in my tone. His curiosity piqued, he pressed on, asking if I was ill.

"It's... something like that," I conceded, my words trailing off. The topic was uncomfortable, but I sensed he wouldn't let it go.

A small smile tugged at his lips as he prodded, "What are you sick of?"

I chuckled, hoping to deflect the inquiry. "I'm sick of too many questions," I quipped, laughter mixed with exasperation.

"It's not funny," he responded, feigning offense.

Looking up at him, I remarked, "Well, Cupid, sir, I'm sorry, but that question is a bit too personal for me to answer."

Undeterred by my resistance, he shifted the conversation. "So, why am I here, you wonder?"

I nodded, curious despite myself. "Yes, that's exactly what I was wondering."

Cupid leaned against the railing, a casual demeanor that seemed oddly out of place. "Work," he replied succinctly.

I arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Work? And what kind of work involves a man with wings and arrows?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying my skepticism. "Well, my work entails making people fall in love."

I blinked, absorbing his words. My heart skipped a beat as a thought took root in my mind. Could he actually help me find the companionship I so desperately craved? But a wave of doubt quickly washed over me. What if he was just an elaborate figment of my imagination?

His eyes twinkled as he noticed my internal struggle. "Thinking of asking for something, Aifika?"

I hesitated, a whirlwind of emotions battling within me. "Not yet," I replied cautiously. "After all, I'm not entirely convinced that you're real."

His laughter rang out, a sound that held both amusement and something deeper. "I assure you, Aifika, I'm very real."

I gazed at Cupid, my curiosity piqued. "If you're here for work, then why are you here with me?" I questioned, my voice tinged with skepticism.

Cupid's response caught me off guard. "No reason, really. I saw you and knew you were doubting my existence. I just wanted to reassure you that you're not crazy."

The surprise must have been evident on my face, though a cynical thought crossed my mind—perhaps he was too arrogant to let someone dismiss him as mere illusion. Cupid's gaze lingered on me, assessing my hesitation.

He studied me intently and inquired, "I wonder why you still think I'm not real? Worry not I'll prove to you." Then, unexpectedly, he reached out and took my hand, his touch warm and solid. A realization struck me—despite his ethereal appearance, I could feel his presence. If he were a figment of my imagination, could I really touch him? The sensation of his touch affirmed his existence in a way words couldn't. He held my gaze as he asked if I was in denial of the truth.

I contemplated his words for a moment, taking a deep breath. Denying or believing his claims seemed inconsequential in the grand scheme. I had a strange feeling that our paths would cross again, regardless of my stance. Moreover, true intelligence involved recognizing the limits of one's understanding.

Resignedly, I admitted to myself that I didn't want to be trapped in a cycle of denial, nor did I wish to wholeheartedly embrace something so unbelievable. A middle ground, acknowledging but not wholly subscribing, seemed the best approach. After all, reality was often stranger than fiction.

As the tension eased, I inquired why I was the only one who could both see and touch him. Could everyone else touch him but not see him, or was I the sole exception in both aspects?

"You're the only one," Cupid replied matter-of-factly, his expression unchanging.

My eyes widened with surprise. "Why? I can't be that special," I mused aloud.

Cupid chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling. "To be honest, I don't know."

A gentle smile tugged at his lips, and he ruffled my hair playfully, his gesture was strangely comforting. He began to step away, ready to depart, when a question surfaced in my mind.

"Wait," I blurted out, halting his movement. "Can you actually make me fall in love?"

Cupid's gaze met mine, his expression a mixture of intrigue and amusement. "Yes, I can."

My heart raced at the realization that a solution to my loneliness might be within reach and now that I'm acknowledging his existence it's okay if I asked him, right? Though hesitant, I knew it was now or never. "Will you make someone fall in love with me?" I asked earnestly.

Cupid regarded me quizzically. "Why ask that when you don't fully believe in me?"

I responded honestly," I actually had been thinking about asking you ever since we met, even though I thought you weren't real. So, now that I do believe in you even though not fully I decided to give it a shot. Whether I believe you or not does not matter in the first place."

" Well, it does matter to me." He said, pouting.

" Ah, I'm sorry I didn't mean to offend you. " I said.

He looked at me thoughtfully, considering my words. Then, after a moment's silence, he replied, "I don't think so."

The abruptness of his response took me by surprise. "Why?" I pressed, seeking an explanation.

Cupid simply smiled, a bittersweet expression, and with a beat of his wings, he disappeared into thin air, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the whisper of an unfulfilled request hanging in the air.