To The Limits And Beyond

Liminal Spaces Herald the Beginning

“Is this all you do here, Mr. Mellins?”

“Of course not. But that is most of what I do here.”

“Interesting.... And quite boring.”

“Is that a journalist’s pun? Coz’ it isn’t the least funny.”

The conversation was calm, yet it echoed through the relatively small space of the Writing Club Headquarters. The windows that slid open were shut, and the wooden door was only slightly opened, an inch at most away from a complete shut. A man sits in the furthest chair at what seems to be a study group’s table; his seat resembles that of a leader’s, facing all the other empty chairs. His hair falls down smoothly on his forehead as he looks down at a notebook where he seems to be writing something. The young man’s eyes are glued to the piece of paper, while his mouth responds almost automatically to the girl behind her, asking the most random questions a journalist could ask.

“Isn’t it tiring to be at school at 7 when your class is still an hour later?” the girl asks, her body dancing in front of the bookshelf behind the man, but her eyes glancing towards him with a timid smile.

“No. It’s what I do.”

Again, eyes focused. Automated answers. She turns her body towards him, slowly with the rhythm of her imaginary music. Her smile grows mischievous, and her eyes light up with an idea. She puts both of her arms on his shoulder, rubbing them gently while moving closer to his ear to whisper something.

“Wanna do something inappropriate, then? To change the atmosphere, for example?”

“No.”

And there she goes. Snaps, like a child who’s done negotiating with her parents about the toy she wants. She blabbers.

“Party pooper! Corporate slave!”

She throws random tantrums at the man, finally giving up after seeing that he still hasn’t reacted. The quiet room was once again plunged into her voice, before going back to the peace it had previously found itself in. After moments, her acts drop like a fallen mask. What seemed like a bubbly young woman was now a mature-looking, serious one, and only then does she reveal her true colors to him.

“Well, I guess you’re who your club members tell me about. Playtime’s over, then, although I didn’t enjoy it that much” she says, almost too out-of-character based on her previous demeanor. She chuckles to herself, almost as if a sense of satisfaction is being silently celebrated, then proceeds to sit on the nearest chair to the dauntless young man. Only then did the man avert his eyes to look at the nosy journalist before him. A young woman with fairly white complexity, with hazelnut eyes that look at him without wavering, and an aura that seems to silently rage brightly, almost like a star through a telescope.

“Tired of your games now, Gale?” he let out a sigh as he asked, finally pulling away from his paperwork. He stretches his arms forward in an attempt to reduce the strain from his earlier posture. The door creaks in between their responses, slowly opening and closing to the gentle breeze coming from the corridors outside. Gale’s posture softens upon hearing her name; with a sense of familiarity, she ponders. With a hint of untold feelings, she answers.

“There’s no getting past your facade as always, Luigi dear.”

“It’s Leugi… why did I even bother to answer that obviously rage-bait question?” he laughs to himself before locking eyes with her once again. His eyes scan her from head to toe, perhaps reading something through her appearance. The door creaks; she wanders. Then randomly, he asks.

“Want coffee?”

“Most certainly, Luigi dear.”

Maybe not so randomly was it a question for someone who stayed up late thinking about a certain someone. He smiles to himself, realizing this, then turns his head away from the girl to hide the cracks in his stoic front.

The door creaks. No, not the club room; the cabinet door, where Leugi pulls a thermostat, a sugar packet, and a can of black coffee. Aside from the offer, there were no other questions asked. He makes coffee for the two of them; she watches eagerly from a safe distance. Both aware of each other, yet smart enough to feign ignorance.

Soon, he finishes preparing. The strong aroma wafts on his own nose, fills the room quietly, then escapes it without permission. In their own worlds, they smile; one out of satisfaction, and one out of appreciation of the other. Whoever felt whichever isn’t clear, at least to themselves. This is a battle of reading rooms, after all. It always is, and always has been.

Leugi comes back to the table, now holding two cups of hot coffee. He carefully sets it on the table, then goes back to his seat.

“Thankies.”

“Mmhmm.”

She takes a sip, and he watches pretentiously. Her face lights up, and so does his. It’s a battle of reading rooms, after all.

“Actually, the interview wasn’t supposed to be today.”

“I know.”

“I just came to say hi, maybe also expecting this cup o’ coffee from my smarty-pants friend.”

“Yep, I know.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

A genuine smile slips. Hers. His.

“Good, then.”

“Whatever you say, Ms. Journalist.”

The rest of the coffee was a dreamy exchange of looks and smiles and casual jokes that required explanations as punchlines. His stomach growls, as if butterflies do not want to settle within it… or was it just the coffee? Her smile can’t find a way to subside, as if the caffeine had put her in an overly active state… or was it just the idea of being at that moment with that person?

It was a battle of reading rooms, after all. And it was fleeting, to say the most. Over in an instant, as the other’s phone beeps.

“Hello? Oh, okay. Didn’t notice the time. My bad. I’m going, thanks.”

He puts his phone down, then turns to her with an excuse waiting to happen.

“It’s 8 already. Gotta go.”

“Okay, leave the club room to me, then. Good luck, Mr. Mellins!”

“Whatever you say, Ms. Journalist.”

His voice echoes more now that he’s off to a distance, making sure that what he leaves behind lingers in his temporary absence. The night that offers itself to the golden dawn, awaiting the next sunset.

She waves him goodbye as he opens the club room door, not a hint of worry about leaving the responsibilities to her. Almost like the ever-knowing cycle of the sunrise that connects and separates night and day.

Outside, the pretentious young man smiles greedily for a moment he will keep in his heart forever. His heart pounds in uncontrollable joy, yet his face settles in genuine fulfillment.

“Good morning, my luminous star. Until we meet again.”