Does Fiction Mean Real Or Fake Novels & Stories

“I wish it were. But it’s all true.” I stared at her, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. “Werewolves...? You’re telling me they’re real? Not just fantasy, not just books and movies?” Her gaze softened, “And vampires. And witches. All of them. But not like the stories you know. Some books came close, but most turned us into cartoons. Fairy tales… exaggerations. We became fiction to survive.” I shook my head, trying to shove down the rising panic. “So… Do you guys actually drink blood? Like, for real?”

* I figured that could be passed off as a joke if needed. *Maybe. Why, are you jealous?* He added a winky face. *Maybe…* Sweat started forming on my forehead. This was flirting. I was flirting with Kevin. Right? That HAS to be considered flirting. Or was this just guys being guys? No. It had to be flirting. Right?

Prathap's Dad stopped near me before saying, "It will have a bad impression on your character if the solution is not taken in this direction. We are not asking for a real engagement but a fake one." After they left, the whole room with four people is just filled with silence but it got broke when someone else entered the room and the two guys started questioning her about the situation while asking about her welfare. "I am fine! I am embarrassed and shocked but I am fine." She stated before sitting on the chair beside Prathap before gesturing Vikranth to sit beside her.

However, until now, I didn’t have any feelings for Siska, but my hatred for her grew more profound. Their assumption was wrong because they read too many romance novels. I wonder why they follow the flow written by the author in real life? Don’t they know how to tell the difference between fiction and real life? I think they all carried away with the novel’s plot and applied it in their daily life. I can only give a faint sigh to those who always think of life as the path they have arranged. But they are not the ones who govern fate and destiny. Sometimes the things you plan didn’t always go the way you planned in your mind.

I am not ashamed to say that some of the above-mentioned movies are indeed my favorite. But that's the thing about fiction. A cow lives on a tree. Every story has two sides, some have more, and most would never be heard. I wonder if it's better that way. Not knowing the dirty, cruel, true side. It makes others feel better, but it makes us, me feel worse every time. Not that I tell my story to anyone, never have, but sometimes I just can't stop telling it to myself and what follows after, better not be revealed.

"You're disgusting! Get out of my way!" He hadn't expected me to curse him out, and his face darkened instantly. Without hesitation, I shoved him aside, took Jordan's hand, and headed straight out. Livio froze, staring as we walked away. Then he exploded. "Diane Ward, this is pathetic! You really think faking a marriage will force my hand?" "Fake marriage?" I snorted. "Whatever you say." His lips pressed into a thin line. "This has gone far enough! It was just a dumb bet. Do you have to make a fool of yourself like this?"

He replied, "All books are fiction." "Not all." "You know what I mean." He shook his head, as I continued. "I like stories that take me somewhere else," I said, "Stories that make me forget reality exists and make me paint pictures in my head. His eyes flickered briefly. "That explains the paintings." I nodded. "It helps." "So, you're one of those romance people that enjoys all those ridiculous stories.” He said, “Where girl meets boy, girl hates boy. And then by some silly ass miracle, they both love each other at the end of the day.”

Sikandar affirmed. Aarif scoffed, “So what if the world is destroyed? It never existed in the first place.” “It does exist in a fictional sense,” Sikandar countered, “What’s happening may be fictional but our thoughts and feelings are real.” “Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? How can something be fictional and real?” “I know how you feel.” “No, you don’t.” “You are confused, angry, scared, hopeless. Everything seems pointless now. Nothing looks worth living for anymore.”

“What is this? I told you we just need a brief description. I didn’t ask you to make up some bullshit story.” “I added some colour-” “You didn’t add colour,” he interrupts the writer. “You wrote a whole fucking horror story. When did any of our children die? We didn’t pick up exploded elders in the forest. Everything we say needs to be believable. This is not.” “I’m sorry, your highness,” the woman says. “I write fiction, not-” “Do better next time,” Johnathan interrupts and shoves the folder back in her hands. “Who has the fact sheet about this man?”

Patting her ‘fro, she answers the question: “Well, if you ask me, I'd say that the line between Fiction and Reality should not be blurred. In real life, no Mafia is going to sweep you off your feet and pamper you like a good girl. Or, treat you like his princess. It's all make-believe. Entertainment. No single Mafia man out there is like the ones that you read about in the pages of my book. Or any book in the Mafia-Billionaire Romance genre for that matter.” Like an obedient puppet, the Interviewer is quick to agree on that take.