While creating a new book, an author gives the main role to the inner voice that helped him in his creativity all his life. The story turns out realistic, but leads both into a dead end. Reality begins to reflect the created plot. The author himself becomes the main character of his story. Meeting a girl first confuses things, and then explains everything. The author learns who they really are. This leads to fundamental consequences.

“Hello, Solo,” a young, attractive girl with short, dark hair says as she approaches the table on the summer patio of a cozy, atmospheric cafe on one of the central streets of the city. “I’m Aileen. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yes, of course, I remember you,” the young man stands up, greeting the girl. It turns out she is noticeably taller. “I was looking forward to our meeting, but I didn’t think we’d see each other today,” he admits honestly, glancing at the wooden archway of the entrance to the cafe's summer patio.
“I apologize. This was my personal initiative,” Aileen says, smiling apologetically. “I couldn't resist this desirable meeting with you.”
“Well, now,” Solo can’t hold back a smile, filled with pleasant surprise and slight disbelief at the open flattery.
“Please, don’t think I’m being dishonest,” the girl quickly justifies herself, noticing the look of disbelief. “I’ve wanted to meet you and introduce myself in person for a long time. Since I read your first book. And today, unexpectedly, I took the initiative when I found out you would be here. I couldn’t pass up this opportunity. And tomorrow, there was no way I could have come to meet you.”
“All right, let’s leave the apologies in the past,” Solo says, calming her with a smile. “Please sit down and relax.”
“Thank you,” Aileen is genuinely happy, accepting the invitation.
“Could you bring a cold fruit tea for the lady, please,” the man orders calmly, without asking the girl’s preference.
“I’m astonished,” Aileen says thoughtfully, staring intently.
“By what?” Solo asks, looking closer with interest, not understanding.
“You didn’t even ask what I wanted,” she expresses mild indignation, feigning annoyance.
“Are you saying I didn’t guess your wish? And you wouldn’t have ordered a cold fruit tea?” a tall glass of reddish tea with ice and fruit slices appears on the table in front of the girl. Drops instantly form on the cold glass walls in the streams of warming city air on a summer morning.
“You know,” the girl eagerly presses her lips to the edge of the glass, drinking a little more than a third of the cold pleasure, feeling the coolness through her body amid the slight heat. “I certainly love cold fruit tea, but you still could have asked,” the refreshed girl says calmly with a satisfied smile.
“All right, next time I’ll definitely ask about your desires,” Solo holds back a laugh, showing a sly smile.
“Do you think the conversation will go further when you find out why I decided to meet with you?” Aileen smiles mysteriously.
“I decided to meet with you,” Solo corrects confidently. “And you just wanted it. That’s how everything happened, as it should.”
“You know,” the girl thinks, narrowing her gaze. “You’re right. I wanted the meeting. And everything turned out exactly as I planned.”
“And everything turned out that way because I decided to meet you,” the man adds smugly.
“Fine. Let it be so,” Aileen realizes she is losing control of the situation. It’s time to move on to serious business.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Solo returns the conversation to important matters more seriously.
“I think you already know,” the girl smiles playfully.
“You have a manuscript?” Solo guesses, looking at the black plastic folder in the girl’s hands.
“I do have a manuscript. But that’s not why I came,” Aileen looks even more mysterious.
“That’s more interesting,” Solo moves closer, looking into the girl’s eyes. “It’s strange, I can’t read anything in your eyes.”
“And you won’t be able to,” she smirks, sipping her cold tea, holding her confident, vivid blue eyes on the man’s hazel ones.
“In that case, I have many interesting riddles to solve,” Solo smiles, leaning back in his chair.
“If I allow it,” Aileen also leans back relaxed in her chair, once again feeling the initiative in her hands.
“I suggest we take a short break from personal motives and deep-seated interests. Let’s deal with the business part of our meeting.”
“With pleasure,” the girl smiles, placing the black folder on the table. She takes out the manuscript Solo noticed.
“How unexpected,” Solo smirks. “And I am supposed to evaluate your work?”
“Then everything would be too simple, as you understand,” Aileen smiles slyly, handing over the manuscript.
“This is my book,” Solo is genuinely surprised. “Where did you get my manuscript?” His forehead wrinkles with surprise and indignation, which is turning into slight anger and irritation.
“You gave it to me yourself, right into my hands,” Aileen informs him calmly, drinking her cool tea.
“I don’t remember,” Solo whispers tensely. He tries to recall, but the girl is completely unfamiliar to him. And he doesn’t remember the moment he handed over the manuscript, which is very strange, since for a writer, this is always a super-important and personal matter.
“Don’t strain yourself so much,” Aileen smiles. “The situation is a little more complicated. I doubt I can explain everything so easily. So, I suggest we move straight to the crux of the matter.” The girl becomes more serious. “It doesn’t matter how your manuscript ended up in my hands,” she stops the wave of the man’s indignation with a glance. “What matters is why it ended up with me.”
“And why is that?” Solo insists, not expecting simple and obvious options.
“I want to propose a visualization of this book.”
“I’ve already told everyone interested in filming my books,” Solo replies sharply. “I’m not interested in such proposals.”
“You haven’t heard me out,” Aileen stops him calmly. “This won’t be a film adaptation. We’re going to realize your book in real life.”
“In what sense?” the man loses himself a little, not understanding the essence.
“We will bring your book to life with real events and people.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Solo exclaims loudly in outrage. Patrons turn toward their table. “Are you out of your mind?” he repeats in a whisper. “The book is good, of course. And I like it. Many want to adapt it for the screen. But for real life, it’s too much. For most ordinary people, such events will be a shock.”
“Yes, I know, I read it,” Aileen smiles contentedly. “That’s exactly what we need.”
“Who is ‘we’?” the tense man clarifies suspiciously.
“Including you,” the mysterious girl evades. “Screenwriters get peanuts. But you will receive payment equal to the box-office earnings of a world bestseller.”
“That doesn’t sound true,” Solo states confidently. “My book is good, but not that good. Even if you fully convey all the events in real life. And the consequences won’t be as rosy as you imagine.”
“But they will be exactly as we imagine them.”
“That’s impossible,” Solo notices a familiar face at the entrance to the summer patio.
“The time has come,” the departing girl whispers behind the man’s back. “When you decide, call me.” Solo looks back at the table. A pearl business card glints gold on the manuscript. “Aileen” is written in golden letters across the middle. The phone number is only visible when viewed at an angle to the sun. The intriguing girl disappears into the stream of passersby.

“And what was that all about?” asks the friend who has just arrived, smiling as he sits down at the table.
“I wish I knew,” Solo sighs vaguely, gazing into the crowd where his memory paints Aileen’s fleeting, memorable image. “As always, you come at the most inconvenient moment!”
“What do you mean, inconvenient?” the friend objects, smiling. “Do you not remember we agreed to meet here exactly at,” he looks at his watch, “—fifteen minutes ago.”
“That’s why I’m protesting!” You should have come much earlier and saved me from those exact fifteen minutes with that girl,” he explains his true feelings tensely.
“Strange,” the friend says, genuinely surprised. “She’s an attractive girl. And it’s obvious she caught your interest. So why did you dislike your meeting with her so much? Anyone else in your place would have immediately called and canceled a meeting with anyone else for her sake.”
“You’d better not know,” Solo says gloomily. “You know, Matt, I’m grateful that you at least came now and cut short that strange conversation,” he looks anxiously toward the exit.
“Is it that bad?” Matt whispers seriously, concerned.
“I think it’s much more serious than I can imagine,” Solo whispers resignedly, looking at the girl’s almost empty glass, which leaves a wet ring on the hot tablecloth.
“I sympathize,” the worried friend says understandingly. “Is there anything I can do to help? Offer support? Advice?”
“I doubt it,” Solo shakes his head, pressing his lips together tightly. “Just tell me why you wanted to meet.”
“Look at this,” Matt says enthusiastically, pushing a pearl business card that shimmers with gold—exactly the same as the one Aileen had given him—toward his friend.
“What is it?” Solo quickly looks away, not daring to read the name in large golden letters.
“Some guy gave it to me when he found out I was friends with you,” Matt recounts simply, unaware of the conversation his friend had with Aileen before his arrival.
“What guy?” Solo asks seriously and suspiciously, hoping to understand who and what he’s dealing with.
“I don’t know, I haven’t seen him before,” Matt smiles, shrugging his shoulders. “Did she drink this?” he asks, looking curiously into the glass of fruit tea.
“Let me order for you,” Solo raises his hand.
“No need, this is enough for me,” Matt calmly finishes the still-cool tea.
“Whatever you say,” Solo struggles not to wince as he watches. It’s not that Aileen is an unpleasant girl. It’s unpleasant that Matt is drinking after her. It’s difficult to explain. It’s not alarming or disgusting, but it’s unpleasant to watch. A slight sense of jealousy.
“Is something wrong?” Matt notices the expression on his friend’s face.
“So what did the guy who gave you the business card say?” Solo changes the unpleasant subject, returning to the mystery.
“He said you’d definitely like the exclusive offer,” Matt relays enthusiastically.
“And did he tell you the essence of his offer?” Solo asks suspiciously, diverting his gaze to the stream of people passing by.
“Just the general outline,” Matt muses lightly. “Something about filming your book. Oh, wow, you actually risked bringing your precious manuscript out of the house for the first time!” the friend says, genuinely surprised, noticing the thick, uncovered stack of pages on the table.
“I certainly didn’t expect my manuscript to end up on the street,” Solo admits seriously, clutching the book in a firm embrace.
“Then I don’t understand anything,” Matt is lost in speculation.
“And you’re not the only one,” Solo reassures him, looking puzzled.
“That makes me feel better,” the friend smirks, carefully placing the business card with the name “Lloyd“ next to Aileen’s card.
“And you decided to meet specifically for this reason?” Solo asks, slightly disappointed.
“Not only that!” Matt replies with a happy smile. “Wait, I forgot the second reason. Oh, no! I remember!”
“Well, did something good happen in your life?” Solo smiles, genuinely happy for his friend.
“Yes! I proposed to Mary!” the guy beams with the news.
“I don’t even know what Mary said,” Solo chuckles, allowing his friend’s joyful emotions in all possible ways.
“She said yes, of course!” Matt objects playfully. “What are you hinting at?” he looks closer suspiciously, guessing what his friend was implying.
“Congratulations,” Solo evades. “You seem like a great couple.”
“We don’t just seem like one. We are a great couple,” Matt declares confidently.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant,” Solo nods, grasping at the saving straw. He doesn’t want to spoil such a happy moment for his friend. “So when’s the wedding?”
“We don’t know yet,” Matt thinks more seriously.
“Is something wrong?” Solo asks quietly, leaning closer.
“Our parents are against the wedding and our union in general,” the friend admits softly.
“You found something to worry about,” the man smiles with relief. “In most cases, parents don’t like their children’s chosen partners. They see enemies, not allies, who want to take their priceless treasure away from them.”
“I understand all that, but I don’t want to start our life together with a war,” Matt says, deeply upset, which happens quite rarely. “Then there will be nitpicking and complaints for the rest of our lives. Maybe they’ll even drive us to divorce.”
“Hold on,” Solo seriously stops the stream of his friend’s gloomy thoughts. “Do you and Mary truly love each other?”
“Of course,” Matt declares confidently, without a second of doubt.
“Then I don’t see a single reason to panic or get upset. Just get married calmly and live together. Ultimately, you’re not marrying your families; you’re marrying each other. Think about your mutual happiness, not about what others think of you. Especially since you have true love. And your parents should feel that. And if they don’t, then there is definitely something wrong with them. Or they are not real parents. And why listen to people who are strangers to you?”
“It sounds logical. But in real life, everything is much more complicated than in abstract reflections,” Matt says resignedly.
“And when was something truly special, bright, and real ever easy?” Solo smirks. “You often have to stand up to the worst for the sake of the best. Of course, this isn’t a mandatory condition for happiness, but the Universe, for some reason, absolutely loves constantly launching us into an endless labyrinth of trials, smiling as it watches us from the side and above, fussing and suffering.”
“I don’t know,” Matt gives up helplessly, lowering his heavy hands.
“What does Mary think?” Solo wants to hear all the arguments to better understand the whole situation and give the right advice.
“She mostly just stays silent when her parents remind her that we are not a match,” he reluctantly recalls the unpleasant moments.
“And what does she say to you?” Solo asks calmly, trying not to rattle his upset friend’s nerves.
“Me?” Matt smiles sadly. “Nothing. She just looks at me with loving eyes, and I don’t need anything else.”
“You’re funny!” Solo laughs in relief. “You have true love! Get married and don’t listen to anyone. You can even run away to the ends of the earth from everyone who disagrees. I’ll support you no matter what.”
“Then you’ll be the best man,” Matt cleverly seizes the opportune moment.
“Best man?” Solo’s confidence evaporates. “Why me? That’s such a responsibility.”
“I don’t know any other person who is both worthy and responsible,” Matt smirks, enjoying his friend’s rare confusion.
“I’m a writer,” the stunned friend reminds him with a smile. “It’s hard to find a more unreliable person. I chose an incredibly dubious path, like the last naive romantic, and you call me a responsible person,” Solo reasons self-critically, genuinely surprised by his friend’s choice.
“Aren’t friends supposed to see their friends’ true motives and goals?” Matt reminds him seriously. “Any path chosen by the heart’s calling and the soul’s desire becomes the most conscious and responsible decision in a person’s life. Not everyone would dare to submit and trust the blessing of the Universe.”
“You sound like me in my books,” Solo squints suspiciously.
“Your books taught me how to be a better person and friend.”
“I see you’ve learned to pick the right arguments, too,” Solo gives in with a smirk, realizing he has raised a worthy opponent in an argument. “Will Mary be okay with it?” Any best friend should consider the bride’s opinion.
“Mary was the first one to insist that you be our best man,” Matt informs him, smiling and happy about the agreement with his fiancée.
“So you were the second one to suggest my candidacy, then,” Solo objects seriously. “What kind of friend are you?”
“What can you do,” he shrugs, smiling, breaking into laughter.
“All right, I forgive you. This time. And I’d be happy to be the best man at your happy official moment.”
“Thanks, friend! I knew you wouldn’t refuse,” Matt shakes his hand contentedly with gratitude and bright joy.
“Only because Mary asked,” Solo says with a mischievous smirk.
“I’m completely fine with that, too,” Matt laughs. “Shall we celebrate?”
“Let’s do it this evening,” Solo asks seriously. “Right now I need to sort this out quickly,” he looks tensely at the pearl business cards with gold names. “I won’t be calm until I understand what they want from me. They ruined my good mood this morning.”
“I understand. See you this evening,” Matt agrees seriously. “It’s a little suspicious,” he recalls his meeting and conversation with Lloyd. It’s a good thing he didn’t see the meeting with Aileen. Otherwise, he might not have let his dear friend meet them.
“Go on, fly to your wonderful fiancée. And I’ll sort this out,” Solo urges him with a smile.
“Be sure to call this evening, and we’ll meet. And you’ll tell me everything in detail,” Matt asks seriously, leaving the city cafe’s summer patio.
“I hope I’ll have that opportunity,” Solo smiles tensely, heading in a different direction from Matt.

“Hello, Aileen,” Solo says reluctantly into the phone, driven by curiosity and a slight fear of the unknown and unexpected.
“You took quite a while to call,” she smirks into the receiver.
“You saw me—I was talking with my friend after our meeting at the cafe,” the man unconsciously justifies himself.
“When is their wedding?” the girl asks, smoothly taking the writer’s arm as they continue down the street together.
“They haven’t set a date yet,” Solo tries to control his emotions, hiding his surprise at the pleasant touch of a practically unknown girl in the middle of the street.
“They shouldn't wait! They need to decide and get married quickly,” Aileen shakes her head disapprovingly. “You can’t put things like that off.”
“Were you eavesdropping?” the writer objects calmly.
“More like, I became an unwilling witness,” the girl excuses herself, pondering.
“Why do they need to hurry?” Solo clings suspiciously to her words.
“They have true love, after all,” Aileen smiles. “And when love is true, you absolutely can’t delay!”
“I agree,” Solo says quietly, expecting a more ominous answer related to the end of the world or something similar. This strange and attractive girl is clearly hiding something.
“It’s not as scary as you think,” she reassures the thoughtful writer with a sweet and warm smile.
“It’s even scarier then?” Solo guesses unpleasantly, looking at the shimmering heat haze in the burning continuation of the street.
“Anything is possible,” the girl answers vaguely. “This way,” she confidently turns into a cool alley filled with a pleasant and eerie shadow.
“Is there the slightest point in asking where we’re going?” the man asks hopelessly, led by the appealing and persistent girl.
“We’re following your pure curiosity,” Aileen becomes increasingly evasive, smiling like the mistress of the situation. “Or are you not at all interested in how we plan to realize your book in real life instead of on a soulless movie screen?”
“You know yourself how important the future fate of every one of his works is to a writer,” Solo surrenders passively to the unknown of the situation. “Where did you get my manuscript?”
“And where did you get it?” she cunningly answers a question with a question. “Please,” a metal door opens around the corner at the end of the shadowy alley, promising nothing good.
“You've finally arrived in our area,” a young blond man with a white, cloud-like beard greets them, taking off his glasses with blue lenses in a gold frame. The closed door blends with the pearlescent walls, gleaming gold in the saturated warm white light of the many lamps.
“I wasn’t exactly rushing to see you,” Solo replies tensely, reluctantly shaking the stranger’s hand.
“No one ever rushes to see us. But everyone hurries to leave us as quickly as possible,” the blond man smirks, looking slyly through the translucent blue lenses.
“And I should probably go now. All the best,” Solo hurries toward the exit. He pushes the door, only to step into an identical room with pearlescent-gold walls, where the man with the white beard and a warmly smiling Aileen are already waiting.
“No, young man, it’s not time for you to go anywhere. You have already arrived,” the man smiles contentedly. “And it’s rude to leave without an introduction. My name is Lemm,” he extends his hand again.
“Solo,” the writer returns the handshake out of politeness.
“There’s no need to try to leave so rudely again,” the man casts a glance at Aileen. The girl pushes the heavy pearlescent door, confining the space to a single pearlescent-gold cube. “If that were possible, we would have lost all our authors and characters. Think about it—how would we manage to implement the plots then?”
“Why did you choose my book?” Solo asks sharply, searching for another exit.
“We commissioned it from you,” Lemm explains calmly. “Do you think a plot like that could have come to you all by itself?” the blond man and Aileen smirk, looking at the bewildered writer.
“But I wrote the other books myself,” he tries to stay confident, though he believes less and less in his chances of escaping the pearlescent binding.
“Yes, you are right there,” Lemm acknowledges the authorship respectfully. “We, if you will, commissioned this particular book from you.”
“But how?” Solo can’t stop wondering. “I’ve never seen you and I have no idea who you are.”
“No one canceled the impulses of desires,” Lemm smiles mysteriously. “It was enough for us to send you certain thoughts and wishes for the creation of a new book. And you created it. I read the manuscript. You have excellently recreated our original idea. The result turned out even better than expected. And now we want to recreate the book you created.”
“Why me?” Solo is still trying to get to the main point.
“You yourself said that no one is interested in you because you’re a pauper,” Aileen smirks. “Especially women—they have no use for a materially poor writer.”
“I’m just looking for people who are rich in spirit and soul,” the writer justifies himself. “And those were my private thoughts. How do you know them?”
“Sometimes, along with the necessary thoughts for the book, we have to instill the wrong motivation. We decided to heat you up with thoughts about money, without which it’s impossible to build a personal life and connect with most of humanity these days.”
“Perhaps,” Solo insists confidently. “Though it’s practically unreal. So, it turns out I wasn’t talking to my inner voice, but to you in my thoughts?”
“Well, imagine that—so quick-witted, yet you didn’t immediately realize who you were pouring your soul out to,” Lemm chuckles, irritating the guest.
“Material wealth, as you might have guessed from my thoughts, is not the best motivation for me,” the writer protests.
“That’s why we’re ready to offer a far more valuable and profitable deal,” Lemm persuades him enticingly. “If you agree to the realization of your book according to our plan, we are ready to grant you the coveted meeting with your one, your only. Can such a proposal leave you indifferent?”
“How can I believe you?” Solo is tensely wary.
“We whispered the right plot to you for the book. We brought you here without much effort. We’re offering the best payment option for your efforts. Is that not enough to start trusting us? Besides, you don’t have a choice. You won’t be able to leave until we realize your book.”
“And once we realize the book, will I be able to leave with my promised one, my only one?” Solo clings more tightly to the illusory promise, which is not backed by any guarantees or trust in these strange individuals.
“If we can make any door disappear, what would it cost us to open any desired door for you?” Lemm is not shy about manipulating the writer’s focus around the interesting circumstances.
“Tell me honestly, will we be able to walk away from you peacefully afterward?” Solo asks directly, guessing what the strange people are up to.
“You’re the writer,” Lemm smirks. “The ending always depends on you.”
“If everything goes according to my book, the chances are slim,” Solo recalls resignedly.
“But you can always rewrite the ending however you wish,” Aileen whispers.
“Then what is there to think about? I have no other options. The offer is excellent, if you haven’t lied,” the writer says, talking himself into it aloud. “And I’ll write the ending the way I need to—I have the experience.”
“Perfect then! Please,” Lemm opens a pearlescent-gold door before the writer.
“And what is required of me?” Solo asks, returning to the real world among the city streets.
“Everything is written in your script,” the man with the white beard and the blue-lensed, gold-framed glasses smirks, closing the door.

I am not urging anyone to do anything.

All events and characters are fictional.

Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

I sincerely apologize if I have offended anyone.

Highly Recommended Age: 18+

The author bears no responsibility for the reader's perception of the book.