Lord of the Strings

Chapter 5: Synchronized Symphonies

Special thanks to Jowee and Blessie--again and again! Without those two who play the violin, this story wouldn't have any inspiration at all haha. -- NEEN

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Ha. I gasp as I stare awkwardly at Edgar. I don’t know what face I am showing but, I think I want to laugh. Yes, what he says must be so laughable…and yet it somehow feels scary. “That’s not for real, right?” I ask him.

But he just shrugs his young shoulders. I continue to stare at him, but this time, in horror. My stares must be so unbelievable that he didn’t say anything after his last statement, and then, without even conceptualizing my next words, I stand up as I clasp my hands on the edge of the table. Eyed-wide, I somehow yell, “So I’m right, after all! I knew it. I was right!” 

“Huh?” He quirks his brows, and I see him folding his arms above his chest. He looks at me in a way that I feel so tiny, so stupidly little. Why does he do that? I mean, why does he act as if he’s older than me? Or maybe I’m just acting younger than my age—because that’s what most people say? I think the last one is more fitting. I shall make a film called “The Curious Case of Vivien Del’a More.”

Whatever. I’m hallucinating. 

“You’re a mind-reader!” I tell him. “Is that a superpower?”

“I’m not. Honestly, no one can read our thoughts except God.”

“Then how could you read me?”

“Whatever I’m telling you is just purely assumptions, humanly deductions you see.”

“So you’re not a mind-reader?”

“Are they even real?” He asks, he looks around then he says, “Hey please sit down.” Embarrassed, I did what he suggested. I’m making a fun of myself. Really. 

“Did you think I’m a mind-reader?” He adds, now smiling to the waiter whom he called Roy earlier, he is placing the cups of coffee on our table. 

“Do you need anything else?” Asks Roy.

“Nothing anymore. Thanks, Roy.” Edgar answers, then he turns back to me as Roy went away. “Did it really bother you? Me, reading you?”

“I don’t know.” I reply, and I sound awkward. I take the cup with my right hand and sip a little, hoping it will release the awkwardness of the moment. But it didn’t.

“Now I think you’re awkward when I’m around. Am I wrong?” 

Awkward, huh! He’s reading me again!

I pretend to look at my coffee, and not to him, when I reply, “You’re reading me.”

“So, am I right? You’re feeling awkward?” 

“Yes, yes, yes, of course. I feel so awkward, that’s why stop reading me. Only then I won’t feel awkward. You said you’re not a mind-reader, but you’re doing it! Why?!” I tell him, I feel like my fingers are gripping tightly in my cup, not wanting to break another glass again.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Vivien. I just can’t stop myself from reading you. But, really, I’m not a mind-reader. I’m just observing.” He unfolds his arms, and I find him scratching his temples. 

“You might misunderstand, but I’m not mad okay. I just don’t like you reading me, is all.”

“Is there something you’re hiding? That’s why you dislike it?”

“Nope.”

“Okay.” He says, then he sips his cup of cappuccino. There’s a brief silence after that, and it feels so awkward. Even so, I look at him, and I can’t remember anymore how I got myself engaged with this boy. I don’t even know if we’re friends or not, acquaintances maybe?