Falling through forever

"It didn't exactly send chills down my spine," I mutter, shoving the script for the new project across the table to Andrew. He gives a low chuckle, completely unbothered.

"You know what? I can already see it: this year's going to be a disaster. First, I get into that stupid accident and miss New Year's. Then I meet a crazy doctor, and now I've got this ridiculous project."

Andrew leans back in his chair, grinning. "Well, I can only suggest you read it again if you didn't understand a damn thing. Even if it didn't give you that rush of adrenaline, you still have to work, baby."

He eyes the script, then points at it. "This is your mess."

And unfortunately, it's all mine. Another day, another pointless script to read and decide whether the seven moons should be in a line or scattered in circles. The worst part? The titles rarely match the actual content. Just like this one.

Seven Moons. It's a ghost story. Seven vengeful spirits trying to haunt a five-year-old girl and her mother. The twist? The ghosts are the ex-husbands of the mother, and she killed them because she's a psychopath. Definitely book of the year, right?

I sigh dramatically, looking at Andrew. "How about this: you pick out the best parts of the plot, help me structure it, and I'll take it from there?"

Andrew smirks, pushing the script back toward me with an exaggerated sigh. "Sorry, Rae, but I'm a sci-fi guy. Horror and psychopaths aren't really my thing."

Andrew McClaire is one of my best friends—and a freakin' genius. A well-known author at Blue House Publications, and a physics professor at a prestigious university. His reputation for being ridiculously intelligent precedes him, and sometimes, I swear I can't keep up with him. But somehow, we vibe. He has this ability to make me feel like we're on the same wavelength, even though my "vibe" is… well, weird. His brain cells probably outnumber mine by a hundredfold, but I never feel small around him.

Or I may say, he never makes me feel like I'm inferior. To me, Andrew's this sweet, soft guy who often gets lost in his own thoughts. Well, of course, that's one of the symptoms of being a writer—and a ridiculously brilliant one at that.

"Then why the hell are you even here, Andrew? If not to help me, literally almost survive a deadly accident," I say, leaning back dramatically.

"That's exactly why I'm here," he responds with a casual shrug, "to see how you're doing."

"Fine, from head to toe. Only this arm hurts sometimes. Other than that, I'm fine," I reply, rolling my eyes. His expression shifts quickly from concern to an evil smirk.

"Well, if you're fine, you should get back to work. You know, this job is a golden opportunity for you. If you lose it, how will you pay your bills?" he says, standing up swiftly.

"That was straight-up mean," I shoot back, narrowing my eyes.

"It's not mean if it pushes you to keep working, Rae," Andrew retorts, flashing that devilish grin.

He pauses, then adds, "I'm going to grab coffee for us."

"I'll take a plain latte," I reply, flipping through the pages of the script.

"Latte, done." He starts to walk away but suddenly turns back to face me.

"Also, could you do me a favor?"

"Sure, what's up?" I ask, slightly distracted.

"Can you drop these keys off to Aiden?" He places the keys in front of me with a look that says I'd better say yes.

"Why are you going somewhere?" I ask.

"Yeah, I've got to head to the library."

"Library? For what?"

"Just studying a concept I'm researching for a project. It's theoretical stuff," he explains, tapping his fingers on the table.

"Is it interesting?" I ask, intrigued but not fully engaged.

"Darling, physics is always interesting," he says with a huge smile, as though talking about his girlfriend—which, of course, he doesn't have. His one true love is physics.

"Pfft. What's the theory called?" I ask, trying to sound interested but inwardly getting bored. Ever since the accident, I can't stand silence. I hear the loud thumping of my own heartbeat, mixed with the ticking sound of the clock in my head. Tick. Tick. Tick.

"It's called Quantum Immortality." Andrew settles into the chair beside me without warning, causing me to jump slightly. His eyes light up, full of passion for the subject. It's the same way my eyes light up when I talk about drawing.

"So, basically, the theory suggests that a person could survive any event—including death—and continue to exist in a parallel universe," he explains, eyes gleaming.

"Is that true?" I ask, leaning in slightly, curiosity starting to creep in.

"To some degree, it depends on how much you're willing to believe," he says, looking smug as he takes a sip of his coffee.

"That's actually pretty interesting. I was expecting you to say something like, 'Gravitational force is equal to the product of the gravitational constant, hence G = m1/m2,'" I joke, laughing as I lean back in my chair.

Rather than laughing at my absurdity, Andrew stares at me for a long moment.

"Sorry, wasn't funny, right?" I say, feeling self-conscious.

"No, you're not entirely wrong. The gravitational force is equal to its product constant, hence F = G m1 m2 / R..." he starts reciting the formula like it's second nature.

"Shut up for God's sake, Andrew! Just go get the coffee," I say, pushing him toward the door, trying not to roll my eyes too much.

✧✧✧

By 9 p.m., I've finally designed the outline for The Story of the Seven Moons. That'll do for today. The author wants four sample covers to choose from. Only working on a single cover feels like a mountain to climb these days. My concentration's all over the place. Lately, focusing on anything feels impossible. Silence is unbearable. It drives me insane.

The other night, I found myself staring into the dark, my mind racing, unable to escape the deafening stillness. If it's not that, I'm plugging in my headphones and zoning out with video games. Either way, I can't take the quiet.

Now, I'm at Vincest's Café, where Aiden works. Aiden's Andrew's roommate and best friend. I chat with him a lot, especially during his night shifts when his creativity seems to peak. Aiden's a curious one. He knows everything and yet chooses to work at a local café. He says he loves making coffee and chatting with people. Strange how everyone has such a different perspective on life.

As I walk into the café, something catches my eye at the far end. A face that looks eerily familiar. I blink, narrowing my eyes. Is that Doctor Asher? But no, something's different. He's sitting with a girl in a baby pink dress. Her curly brown hair is styled perfectly. No glasses today, I notice. He's dressed sharp, sleeves rolled up, looking like he stepped out of a fashion magazine.The girl's sipping her coffee daintily, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. Doctor Asher's lips are moving slowly, his eyes softening with a look I can't quite place—blush spreading across his cheeks. My teeth clench as I realize I'm almost gritting them.

Ouch.

I quickly walk to the counter and place the keys down, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that's gnawing at me.

"Hey, buddy!" I wave to Aiden.

"Hey there, buddy," Aiden waves back, grinning ear to ear. His dimples are a total weakness of mine. I have one too, but it doesn't look nearly as cute as his.

"Just delivering these keys," I say, handing them over.

"Oh, that jerk made you do his dirty work again?" Aiden asks, stuffing the keys into the pocket of his dark blue apron.

"Apologies for that," He sigh dramatically. "It's definitely not how you treat a lady."

I chuckle, playing along. "So, should I order a head chop for him?"

"No, no, no blood baths, princess," Aiden teases, his eyes twinkling. "But you do deserve a coffee."

"Latte," I reply, perching myself on a stool at the counter.

"Classic latte, coming up," Aiden says, already turning to make the drink.