I noticed that he was following me. His dressing was a little bit out of place. I looked back to take a glance at him. But I didn’t recognize him. I kept walking, this time increasing my pace. He trailed too in the same manner.
I stopped again, turned and faced him. He stopped too. He looked at me, then faced down. He avoided my eyes.
“Hello. Good day. Can I help you?” I greeted and asked.
He wasn’t ready to talk. He kept looking down. I was about to ask another question when he looked up immediately.
“You’re Vivian, the writer?” he asked with a smile clouding his lips.
I wanted to lie. To let him know I was not the one so I could know why he asked the question. But he shut me up with words that froze me that moment. The words that were too surreal to be real. He kept repeating them as he left my side.
“The characters in your stories are real. You created our world. Any time you write, you give birth to a human. I’m one of them. I finally met you. Others would soon come to find you.”
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