Her first book launched and a long trail of interviews booked her day. She repeated the now ‘by heart’ lines to the reporters and waited for this suffering to end. She thought she had sailed through it when out of nowhere she was hit by the question she was dreading, “The incidents seem so real, is it your story?”. She held her breath, clinched her fists and bit her teeth. A pale pallor stretched across her face giving away the truth, she had so efficiently concealed.
Seconds passed without a word from her and just as everyone was about to pin the book as her life story, the publisher flung to her rescue. “She was inspired by real people and wrote a fiction around them.”, he said it with such conviction that no room was left for doubt. The ‘tragic’ book was launched happily without further drama but her eyes reflected the true image of the ‘heroine’ of the book.
It became a best seller, a grand party thrown and she was crowned the most promising new novelist on the charts. As she drank away to the success of her book, the girl of the book came to life. Tears started to pour and with every lot of tears she shed, she downed another drink. As hysteria got the better of her, she was hushed and escorted out of the party. The people who were celebrating her, moments ago were now shaking heads at her misbehavior.
She woke up next morning to a huge article in the newspaper that sang of her uncontrollable behavior in the party. The phone wouldn’t stop buzzing, she switched it off. The landline started bugging her, she pulled off the wire. Hours later she lay in a pool of tears with newspaper scattered around her. As the night rose to its maximum glory, she stood near the door with ‘her’ book in hand. One hard look at it, left it at the table and walked off. The door to her apartment closed with a thud as she moved towards a new start.
She had locked the key to her secrets with a flight to an unknown country. Years later as she walked on the cold roads, in a foreign accent a voice called, “Aren’t you that best selling author? I read your book, what a tragic love story!”. “No, you are mistaken, I am no novelist.”, she walked off with her head high up. A new life had embraced her and she left the book to be a fictional love story, no need for the truth to be spilled. Some truths are best left under the covers to not be discovered ever!
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