ANONYMOUSLY WRITTEN

CHAPTER 1: THE HANDWRITTEN SCARS The problem with ending a book was that nobody warned you about the emptiness afterward. And there I was, staring blankly at my laptop screen, at my just finished novel with months of writing, rewriting, deleting and rewriting again.The 8th by the way. A soft laugh escaped my lips, not because I'd done something funny but yes, I did survive another book after months of reevaluating my emotions. I would say this has to be my best novel. There I was at my not so luxurious room as every young lady in the society out there will have it, leaning back in the chair. Morning sunlight filtered through the white curtains hanging beside my bedroom window, casting soft shadows across the room. Books occupied nearly every available space. They filled the shelves against the walls, sat stacked beside my bed and crowded the corners of my desk. That's how I've spent the past 16 years of my life, filling my head with thoughts, and that's got to be one of the best things I enjoy the most when it comes to reading and writing. I glanced at the clock for the second time that day, 8:17 AM boldly stated on the clock, it was movement time, I stood and stretched, wincing as my muscles protested. A soft smile accompanied by teary eyes left my lips as I stared again at my manuscript for probably the 4th time that day. Admiring my months of work, sleepless nights, moments of doubts. I slowly picked it up and there the familiar feeling was. The feeling of relief, pride, fear. Suddenly,there was a knock on the door, one enough to distract me of my thoughts. "Come in". The door opened and it was my father. Daniel Bennett a sixty one years old, tall broad-shouldered man, dressed in his usual faded flannel shirt over old jeans with a newspaper resting beneath his left arm. He looked up at me with his reading glasses which sat crookedly on his nose, and sighed. "You didn't sleep" I smiled, "Well good morning to you too". "Ha ha, you aren't denying it huh". "Oh dad, you know I'm always busy". "Busy happen to be your favourite word these days, you need to cut yourself some slack". "I'm 23 years old dad, I need to work my ass out, that's what people of my age should be doing. I need to work for the future I hope for". "Alright alright honey, but just try to get rest as and when due that's all I'm saying". "I'll try dad,I promise". Dad eventually looked towards the stack of papers resting on my desk. "You finished a project?". "Something like that" I said, not wanting to drag it, hoping that convinces him not to question further. And that was it, my dad had long accepted that writing was my work. He knew I sold articles, editing services and occasional manuscripts through the agency. But what he didn't know was that one of his most read and literally the manuscripts laying on the table there belonged to a lady called Soleil and that's where my story comes in. That's my pen name, and I intended to keep it that way, at least for now. "Tell Marcus I said hello when you get to Harlow's". He said before leaving. I could only sigh, I wished I could tell him more, but I didn't wait this long just to spill everything now. Hopefully I get to tell him sooner or later. Now I know you're probably thinking. How does someone publish 8 books, have their name on a shelf in a bookstore,win awards, and still manage to keep their face completely out of it?, Doesn't the industry require a headshot? A bio? A face to attach to the name?. Well yes,they do. At first they did actually. Years back, i had submitted my manuscript to a small independent publisher, part of the agreements was to keep my identity hidden, it's how I get to convey my emotions to the world without letting one know it's me. To me, people finding out could hinder me expressing my thoughts, it would never feel same for me. They love my novels, and that's more than enough for me. Staying Anonymous helps me write without getting judged physically. Yes mystery did make people talk and that's what had make my book sell over the years, it made people curious. By my third novel, it wasn't a problem anymore. It was what made Soleil Soleil. My nominations,my wins, were taken up by someone in the company, she had to bear the name "Sloane Bennett" on my behalf. Maybe,the world will someday get to see the real Sloane. Few hours later, I got dressed in my fitted black turtleneck tucked neatly into a high-waisted blue jeans with my white sneakers to complete my outfit, After what it seemed like one of the most chaotic wardrobe scenes. I grabbed my leather bag, slipped my manuscript inside and headed downstairs, early enough for breakfast at least. I kissed my dad goodbye and ran off quickly, just fast enough to catch up with the air. Skipping breakfast had always been a topic of discussion , especially it being a trait I inherited from my mom. But it's something that couldn't be helped, not that particular morning. I needed to be at the Harlow's very early even though I was already a bit late at the moment. The drive to Harlow's books took twenty-five minutes. Terrible wasn't terrible for once. The familiar storefront came into view just before ten, Harlow's sat between an old record store and a small framing shop that looked like it had existed since the beginning of time. The green-painted exterior of the Harlow's hadn't changed in years, neither had the ceramic fox sitting inside the display window. Marcus had stubbornly refused to move it, claiming it brings luck. I parked nearby and stepped out of the car. The cool morning air brushing against my skin, just cool enough to cause me goosebumps. A few people walked along the sidewalk carrying coffees and shopping bags. The city was awake now. Busy,loud, exactly the time I preferred placing my manuscript at the store because people tend to be busy with their work while I just get to place my manuscript there without anyone getting to notice, just the way I love it. It's how I've got to remain anonymous all these years and that very morning, Harlow's wasn't open yet. Just the perfect morning feeling. I walked towards the side entrance and unlocked the door with my spare key. It was handed to me by the shop owner Marcus. He entrusted me with the keys because of our closeness and he happened to be the second to know about my anonymously written manuscripts. My bestie Kyler was the first. The familiar scent of paper, wood and old pages had welcomed me as I stepped in immediately. I headed toward the back corner. Towards the shelf, my shelf, the one place in the world that belonged entirely to Soleil. A small brass plaque sat beneath the collection. Readers noticed it all the time, they photographed it,talked about it and even speculated about it online, but years passed by and still no one could find the clue yet. Sometimes I wonder what it will feel like when people, my parents eventually find out I was the one behind the name. It's going to be a life turning moment for me. Carefully, I placed my thoughts, my manuscript there, on the shelf with my name crested on it, Soleil. A smile tugged at my lips, another heavily finished storyline, another secret release into the world. "Excuse me". A voice loud enough to distract me of my thought, spoken from behind. I turned, and a man stood near the counter. He looked to be a man in his late thirties dressed in a dark button-down shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Definitely not Marcus. His expression wasn't friendly "Can I help you?", I asked. His eyebrows lifted. "I should be asking you that". I blinked, "what?". "The store isn't open". "I know", I said abruptly. "Then how did you get in?" I held up the key. "With this obviously". The man frowned. "And how did you get that if it wasn't stolen". "Marcus gave it to me". The man didn't look convinced, not even slightly. I sighed out of frustration. It was definitely going to be one of those mornings. "I'm here all the time", I said again hoping it will sound more convincing. He said again, fading off the hope I had, "Well I've never seen you". "That's unfortunate", I said sarcastically. His jaw tightened."I'm serious" "So am I". The tension stretched for what felt like a full minute. Neither of us moved, neither backed down. Finally,the man crossed his arms. "I'm going to need you to leave". I stared at him in disbelief, I obviously wasn't ready to leave that moment, not when I still had books to pick up for the weekend. "You mean that, like practically now?". Before I could respond further, the bell above the front entrance chimed. We both turned to look at the figure bold enough to intrude us. Behold, it was a man. Tall with broad shoulders, dark hair, eyes, dressed in a black Henley shirt beneath a charcoal jacket and a tailored rare kind of fabrics trousers. His hair roughly styled at the side, he was giving everything dark romance kind of guy. A man who looked to be in his late twenties, the kind I wrote about in my novels,but had convinced myself didn't exist. His gaze moved across the room, first to the employee, then to me. Judging from his look, he seemed to have understood what was going on there. The employee immediately spoke. "Good morning, Mr. Hayes". Mr. Hayes, I said to myself. Interesting. The employee went further to explain as Mr. Hayes, as they call him, walked in closer. "She sneaked in here, and claimed to have gotten the keys from Marcus". Mr. Hayes glanced at the key in my hands, then at the shelf beside me, then back to the employee. His expression remained calm. "You said she got the key from Marcus?". "Yes", the employee said. I thought he was going to be some bunch of losers, but what he said next got me really stunned. "Then Marcus probably wanted her here", he said calmly. Silence followed immediately, I fought the urge to smile because with just few words from this stranger, I had won the case. The employee looked embarrassed. The stranger, or rather Mr saviour simply walked past us to the reading section as though the matter was settled. No arguments, just simple observation, and somehow that ended the entire misunderstanding. For reasons I couldn't explain, I found myself watching briefly. Long enough to notice the confidence, the authority, the calmness he had displayed few minutes ago. That moment ended too quickly, or at least it should have though. I gathered all my collections for the weekend, quickly left without looking back to avoid further confrontations. But one thing unexpectedly lingered on my mind that day, I didn't get to thank him. I didn't even get to know his name properly, yet somehow I had a feeling that we would be seeing again. Probably here again at Harlow's shop. I glanced at the bookstore one last time with uncertainty before driving off. Halfway home, I got a buzz from my phone, it was a missed call. It was Marcus, two things were running through my mind that moment. One was that of curiosity because he never called unless it was urgent or something was wrong. Second was that could his assistant,the employee have reported me. But that was unlikely because it would only warrant obtuseness. The second call came in again and I had to pick up. "Please tell me the bookstore is still standing", I said jokingly. Marcus laughed, "It is". "Good". There was a pause, it felt like he wasn't sure of what he was going to say. That action made my stomach tighten. "Sols", he said. This was the name he normally calls me, it felt more like me since it was a direct abbreviation for my pen name. This moment, he sounded like someone who won a jackpot, and couldn't wait to say it out loud to someone. "What's wrong", I responded vaguely. "You had any encounter with any man this morning, someone of the name Mr Hayes?". My fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Mr Hayes. For some reason, the image of those dark eyes flashed through my mind. Something that once felt soothing, felt terrifying at that moment. "Yes". Marcus said quietly, "he wants the adaptation rights to your just released Novel "THE NIGHT WE MET". Film or series, he hasn't decided yet, and not just that, he's requesting for a partnership deal directly with the writer. He said he had personally taken interest in your writings for years. He sent a postcard to meet up at his office the following day. My heart made a pause, what doctors call arrhythmias. Immediate silence settled in between, a moment of uncertainty followed. I didn't want this life, not especially this moment I've gotten to the peak of my career, I wasn't in need of money so I could decline. But something in me wanted it so badly, not because it was him, but because I did want it a long time ago. Lost in thoughts, Marcus spoke worriedly. "You there sols?". Not knowing how to respond, I quickly said "you could fix that, right?". "You still want the impersonating act this time around?, It's risky, just figure something out and let me know soon. Another call just came in, will catch up with you later sols". The call disconnected. At that point, it was a mix of confusion, scattered thoughts. But on a second thought, I said to myself, I'll just figure something out or just go ahead with the impersonating where someone has to go in my stead. My life has slowly began getting colourful, and honestly it wasn't bad at all, except for the fact that it was going to be the start of a whole new cycle, and that world alone scared me more than death.