Cupid's Perfect Match ( Cupid by FIFTY FIFTY)

Chapter 7: Dairy of the future

I entered my apartment with a sigh, the weight of the day still clinging to me. The gloomy atmosphere of the funeral had left me feeling unsettled and negative. I headed straight to the bathroom, hoping that a bath would wash away both the dirt and the haunting thoughts that had crept into my mind. Our cultural practice dictated that a bath was necessary after visiting a grave, to cleanse oneself of any lingering negative energy. As I let the warm water soothe my body, I hoped that the ritual would also cleanse my mind from the unsettling thoughts that had taken hold.

Exiting the bathroom, I felt a bit refreshed, though my mind still churned with various thoughts. It was curious, how we were our thoughts and yet couldn't fully control them. No matter how hard we tried to steer away from certain subjects, they had a way of persisting and often gaining more prominence.

In an attempt to distract myself, I decided to explore the packages my mother had sent me. I hadn't yet gone through everything she had sent, so I figured now was a good time. Among the contents, I found a new pair of noise-canceling earphones and a water bottle. I chuckled to myself—my mother's subtle way of reminding me to stay hydrated. She always insisted that I drink plenty of water, even though I was well aware of the importance.

The last parcel I opened was smaller than the others. Inside was an old-looking book, a used diary to be precise. I furrowed my brow, puzzled as to why my mother would send me a diary. As I opened it, I realized that it wasn't from my mother at all. There was no return address, just my name inscribed on the cover. I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of my stomach.

I flipped through the pages and read the opening lines, my skepticism growing with each word. The diary claimed to predict the future and hinted at a world beyond our perceptions. It mentioned the thin line between fiction and reality, how what may seem impossible could, in fact, be real, and vice versa. The words were cryptic and unnerving, making me wonder if this was some kind of elaborate prank or joke.

As I read further, the diary posed questions that prodded at my thoughts. How would it feel to meet the one you desired most? But I had no answer to that; I hadn't yet met anyone I desired to meet. A sudden realization struck me—was the diary referring to Cupid? After all, I had yearned for love, and meeting Cupid had been the catalyst for confronting my own desires.

My mind spiraled into a mix of confusion and apprehension. Could this diary be implying that my meeting with Cupid wasn't just a chance encounter? Was there some truth to its cryptic words? I debated whether to simply discard the book, dismissing it as an unsettling curiosity. Yet, something held me back. A strange curiosity mixed with a dash of fear, making it hard to simply toss it aside.

With a hesitant sigh, I flipped through more pages, reading more of the enigmatic words the diary held. Each passage seemed to tug at the edge of my understanding, as if beckoning me to explore the hidden corners of my own desires and perceptions. As I pondered the peculiar contents of the diary, a sense of unease settled over me, mingling with the strange sense of possibility it evoked.

Now, I couldn't stop thinking. I hated when this happens. Why can't I control my own thoughts. I'm supposed to be controlling them not the other way around.

I set the diary aside, unable to muster the courage to dispose of it. Seated on my couch, I found myself battling the relentless surge of thoughts flooding my mind. It was as if I was caught in a relentless cycle, and I couldn't find an escape. Every little noise seemed to grate on my nerves—the chirping of birds, the hum of the fridge, the tinkling wind chime, and even the ticking of the clock on the wall.

In a desperate attempt to find peace, I closed the windows to shut out external sounds, but the internal turmoil persisted. I reached for my noise-cancelling earphones, hoping to find solace in the static that filled my ears, but even that only seemed to amplify my unease. The mysterious diary's words lingered, haunting me.

With a sigh, I turned to the piano, usually a reliable source of comfort. My fingers danced across the keys, but the melody that usually soothed my nerves seemed discordant, as if it couldn't align with my emotions. I tried to follow the music sheet, hoping for some normalcy, but my frustration grew as my playing only worsened.

Suddenly, a voice, gentle and unexpected, broke through my thoughts, seemingly carried by the air itself. "That's a lovely song."

I froze, my heart racing. Had someone entered my apartment? Or was the voice just a product of my overactive mind? I was sure I was alone, so it had to be a figment of my imagination. I shook my head, trying to dismiss the voice as a trick of my thoughts.

Yet, I continued to play, the frustration building within me. The melody grew more chaotic, as if my fingers had lost their touch. I yelled in frustration, throwing an object to the ground in a futile attempt to vent.

"Hey, what are you doing? Don't just throw things like that," the voice chastised, and I turned to find Cupid standing beside me.

Surprise registered on my face as I hadn't expected him to be there. "Oh! I'm sorry," I stammered, feeling slightly embarrassed by my outburst.

"Wait, why are you here?" I asked, my voice tinged with suprised. Despite the turmoil in my mind, his presence seemed to anchor me to reality, even if that reality had taken on an otherworldly twist.