“You’re being pathetic,” exclaimed Yali.
“No, I’m not,” Bela cried back. “Or, may be I am.”
Yali slammed the laptop close that lay in front of Bela.
“It’s stupid to worry over a character, let alone a fictional one,” she said.
“Since I’ve heard that they don’t have the next book of the series, I’ve become restless,” Bela defended.
Yali arranged her desk. Bela drew her phone and started searching news updates for the novel she had been reading for the past two weeks. She stopped abruptly after entering the Google homepage.
“Do you think I’m being pathetic?” Bela questioned with a look of regret in her eyes.
“Perhaps, not.”
“See I told you I’m not being pathetic, right from the start.” “But sometimes I worry if I’ve taken the fiction world too seriously.”
“They say art is for our kind to enjoy,” Yali said, more warmly this time to console her little sister.
Bela opened her little black notebook. There were drawings of all kinds. Flowers, people, characters, cartoons.
“I sometimes wonder if the puzzles of our life would too fit the way they do in the stories. There’s always an author who knows everything,” she said as she turned the pages.
Yali gazed over the notebook, which was the world of her little sister. She had it since she was 12. It was a gift from their grandfather.
“The author doesn’t always know everything, wouldn’t you agree Bela?”
“I guess it’s a journey for them too, eh?”
“Yes, for those in the book and outside the book.”
The Wordcastle 