"With every breath, I don't feel freshness. I don't feel the nightly coolness and smell of the ocean. All I feel is how good has turned into evil, love has become an irony, courage has become cowardice and the meaning of life has become to prove to someone something."
It was Leon's thoughts.
I kept reading his notes, which remained in my house.
I liked the way he thought. I liked his sadness.
But the further I read the more I started to think about how I could make him happier or how I could become part of his chaos.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have become a sensitive and sentimental person who for the first time in his life thought of such a ridiculous idea as happiness.
I thought about happiness like never before.
And I fell asleep with that thought. I slept soundly, but his voice sounded in my head until the alarm woke me up and I ended up in my car, which was driving through the pouring rain.
During this time, I have already managed to get three refusals. And every publisher kept saying that my book was too loud and no one would understand it.
And now I was going to the fourth publishing house, but if this time they refuse me, I think I will stop my attempts to publish the Chain Reaction.
Actually, what's my book about? People, their dreams, their goals. What can be loud and dangerous in dreams?
Sitting in a car that was stuck in traffic, I was looking around.
The traffic jam may have lasted five minutes, but during that time I managed to come up with what my next book would be about.
To hide from the wet wind, I brought my leather cloak with me. And now I put it on myself, I got out of the car and went to the publishing house, which was completely glassy.
The heels of my shoes beat the rhythm and my heart too. To say I wasn't worried would be ridiculous.
I was worried before I got in there.
But that excitement evaporated when I was greeted by a man with a broad and deceitful smile.
The level of pretense on his face was just off the scale. Why would he do that? Why all this smile to the ears when his eyes were filled with malice?
He reached out to me his hand and we somehow silently came to his table, which was also made out of glass.
Everything around me was made of glass. Even chairs, a table, a vase for flowers.
While I was looking at the statue of a dog on his table, he smiled and said, "Professor Skye, how are you doing? I hope you don't feel cold. It looks like winter will be very cold this year."
"I'm fine," I replied, and asked myself again about why I chose this publishing house at all.
"Would you like a cup of coffee or tea?"
"No thanks."
Breathing heavily, he scratched his head, which slowly lost the rest of his hair. If it wasn't for the deceitful smile, he had quite a trusting face. But why would he hide like that?
Looking at the sky, he shook his head and began to talk about the weather.
"The clouds are so intimidating. I don't like rain since I was a kid. I probably should have moved somewhere warm a long time ago."
"Probably."
"And you like autumn, don't you?"
"Yes," I said.
And then he broke into laughter. But what was funny?
Nervously smiling, he then coughed and drank a few sips of water.
I was in no hurry to ask about my book. I knew people have this habit when they see that something is important to you, they start walking around, and do everything to play with your nerves. I'm used to it, so I had a lot of patience.
As if reading my thoughts, he put both hands on the table right parallel to each other. Making his image even weirder, he straightened his back and raised his head.
"Professor, I read your book," he finally said after making sure I was completely calm.
I waited silently for the continuation.
"I liked your book. I liked it because it's funny."
"Funny?"
"Yes. But to be honest, I don't understand your book. I don't understand your voice in this. Whether you wrote this book with a hint of irony or sarcasm, it remains unclear. But I understood the meaning. You want to tell people about dreams, how to learn and continue to dream."
He paused. His hands were clearly sweaty judging by the way he rubbed them against each other and then looked discontentedly at the red palms.
"But in general, I liked your book. For a moment I even doubted my life choice. For a moment it seemed to me that I was not living my life."
"How can you say you liked the book if you can't even understand the sarcasm there or the irony?"
"Professor, I really want to publish this book. But you see, I'm afraid this book might affect people."
He looked up at me with his eyes in which emotions and feelings had long since disappeared.
"Professor Skyemoone, what if you write in the foreword that this book has shades of comedy and satire?"
"Comedy? Do you really think my book is a comedy?"
"But it will be easier. And people won't take it that seriously."
Then I couldn't stand it and laughed.
"Professor, what you wrote is too clever. But if people start reading this, what do you think will happen?"
"What's going to happen to them? It is just a book. And the main theme of this book is Philosophy. But I see you haven't figured anything out."
"Sorry," he smiled but his eyes clearly expressed anger.
I continued to sit on the glass chair until suddenly, the door opened, and the next second I felt someone's hand on my shoulder.
Having snatched my manuscript from the hands of the publisher, Leon, as if out of nowhere, appeared and grabbed my hand and shouted, "Do you even respect yourself? What are you doing here?"
No sooner had I said anything as Leon looking at the publisher with a deceitful smile, said, "If you want comedy, then go work as a clown."
Squeezing my hand, Leon dragged me along.
Closing the glass door with all the force that I thought it would break, I wanted to stop him, but then he pushed me away.
"What are you doing?" he shouted to me waving my manuscript.
"What are you doing?"
"Skyemoone!" clutching me by the collar, his dark green eyes showed the color of anger. We were standing in the rain, but none of us felt it.
"Leon! What are you doing?"
For a while, looking at me as if he was ready to hit me, Leon suddenly let me go and put his hand into the pocket of my pants.
Pulling out the car keys, he quickly headed towards my car and while I was standing and looking at him in the trail, he was already sitting behind the wheel of my car.
When I was in the car, I suddenly felt like it didn't belong to me at all.
He was driving and his expression was full of disappointment and anger.
Looking at the way his long eyelashes were shaking and little raindrops were falling from them, I decided it would be better if I kept quiet.
He was driving fast, and I was just his passenger.
I didn't know where he was going, but one thing I knew for sure, I trusted him and I was calm.
Stopping in front of the house more like an ancient lighthouse, Leon sat silently for a while, but then looking at me he said, "Do you know what you want?"
"What do you mean?"
He moved closer to me. When we were separated only by his coat with a convex collar, at that moment I drowned in his dark green eyes.
I was in a mysterious forest that had no way out. I was lost and at the same time I was found.
What is this feeling?
Anyone else would say that it's love. But I was sure it wasn't. Because love is too simple, too fragile.
Looking at me, he whispered softly, "Are you ready to accept what you wrote?"
"Why is it so important for you to have my book published?"
"Do you always ask stupid questions?" he asked, still piercing me with his watchful and slightly intimidating look.
"Leon."
"Skye."
"What do you want?"
"Are you ready to change the world?" he asked, moving even closer that I had to close my eyes.