It had been a long time since Dean had felt so tense when he sat across from someone.  Even in the past when he was seated with lawyers, before judges and prosecutors, as well as witnesses who did not side with him.  Deandra did not feel this much pressure.

 “You finished the book overnight.  So I can guess, you're a little out of work huh?”  the chirps of the stranger across the table broke the silence between them.

 Dean snorted and then smiled.  Being between offended and sad because what the man said could not be denied by him.

 “I work from home.  So you could say I really don't have much work to do."  Deandra said without removing the smile on his face.

 The brief conversation that had created between them, seemed to have managed to make Dean a little more relaxed.  The way he sit was not as tense as before.

 “Work from home?  What kind of work?”  asked the stranger.  It was clear he didn't want their conversation to be cut short.

 “I am an editor, as well as a script hunter.”  Dean answered as he flipped open the blue-covered novel on the table.

 The foreign man looked quite surprised.  In his eyes, Dean didn't look like someone who would work in an arts-related field.

 "It's true what people say.  We can't judge a book by its cover."  said the man jokingly.

 Dean chuckled.  More or less understand the meaning of the words of the man across the table.

 “The same goes for this book, right?”

 Having opened it without reading, Dean closed the book again and pushed it to the other side of the table.  Right in front of the man.

 "Yes, right."  said the man as he flipped open the book on the table.  Just like Dean did before.

 “Honestly, I don't feel I have the right to judge.  I'm also not that cruel to say this book failed.  It's just, some parts do feel stuck."

 Dean revealed what was in his head.  He cupped his hands on the table.  While his gaze continued to focus on the book that was still behind the pages by the foreign man on the other side.

 “Just say it.  Besides, the writer isn't here to respond to your criticism."  said the man without looking at his interlocutor.

 Hearing that, Dean again carved a smile that had been lost when he contemplated the figure of the author.  Criticism, Dean had never dared to criticize anyone in his life before.

 “Perhaps if the writer were here, instead of criticizing I'd rather ask him.  Questions like ‘What is your goal in making, and publishing an incomplete book?’ well, maybe something like that.”

 A pair of beautiful eyes behind round lenses shifted from the book on the table to another man in front of him.  Deandra could feel the gaze, but did not dare to respond so he could only lower his gaze to the empty table.

 “Why do you think this book is incomplete?  Even though it's clearly written a happy ending there."

 Dean was silent for a moment.  Trying to find a sneer or disdain from the question the man asked him.  But he couldn't find anything.  Even the way the man spoke was very calm.  Until Dean felt like he was staring at the lake water when dawn came.

 "That's right.  Happy ending.  But somehow, it feels like something is missing.  The story is so narrow.  Too revolved around the heart and feelings of the main character.  It is true that a novel is supposed to talk about the main character.  But even that is not clear.  Why is Licia crazy about Andrea?  Why did Andrea refuse Licia so much?  Not explained."

 Pausing for a moment, Dean clenched his fists.  The atmosphere became even heavier as the man across the table gave no response to his words.  Even though the man was just giving Dean space to talk.

 "Unfortunately, I can't imagine that the person who wrote this book was a teenager in love, or a novice writer just pouring out his imagination."

 Dean continued his sentence.  His voice is the only sound heard here.  That's why even though he was low-key, the man across the table could still hear him.

 “I have seen many books by various authors, and for this one I can say for sure.  The rule of writing is very beautiful.  The vocabulary used in it is so extensive.  In fact, there are almost no spelling and punctuation errors.”

 Pause for a moment, Deandra was disturbed by a thought that suddenly appeared in his head.  A second later, this young man raised his eyes and looked at another man who was still faithfully looking at him.

 “I'm sure, you know that too don't you?  You may even be the one who knows best.  That's why you were interested in letting me read this book.  Otherwise you would have told me yesterday that this book is not interesting and that I'd rather not read it."  the accusations that Deandra directed at the man at the same time finished his speech.

 Silence incarnated again.  If only music was allowed in this place, then surely the orchestral music would fit perfectly into the atmosphere between them right now.  Like in a drama or detective film.  Imagining that, made the bespectacled man smile, a mysterious smile.

 "What makes you think that?"  the man asked.

 “Because I know you are a writer too.  Not even an ordinary writer.  You are quite senior in this field.”  Dean pointed again.

 "How can you be sure when I haven't introduced myself?"

 Interest made the man continue to ask questions.  It was clear he wanted to encourage Dean to lay out the basis for all the accusations against him.  Deandra knew that too.

 "There's a pen in your pocket.  But as far as I can see, you don't have any books or notes with you."

 Deandra's words suddenly made the man lower his gaze to see his own shirt pocket.  That's right, a classic pen was in his pocket and it's been there ever since.

 "That's because you didn't write in the notes.  You are using a very classic method.  Like writers in the eighties who wrote every idea that popped into their head on a slip of paper tucked up their sleeve.  And again, you have ink marks on your wrists."

 The eyes behind the round lens widen.  The man had a faint look of surprise on his face.  Not long after, he pulled out a piece of paper that was indeed tucked under the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing.  Some of the writings have even been seen adorning the paper.

 Seeing this a satisfied smile appeared on Deandra's face.  While the man across the table could only be silent in disbelief.  After a while, he smiled too.  A smile even bigger than Dean himself.

 "I am surprised."  said the man.

 "I was surprised too.  I didn't think that in this era there are still people who use such methods.”  Said Deandra.

 The man chuckled lightly, then tucked the small piece of paper back into his sleeve.

 "Well, because I don't have a smartphone.  Honestly I hate change.  I even still write on a typewriter.”

 Dean blinked, looking interested in what the man had just said.  Responding to the look on his face, the man chuckled again.  Then fixed his eyes on the blue-bound book on the table that had been forgotten.

 "You're right, the author of this book seems to know a lot about the world of writing."  The man whispered.

 "And that's what makes it awkward."  Dean replied while staring at the same book.

 "Perhaps, the book isn't finished yet."  The man spoke again.  Once again managed to attract Deandra's attention to him.

 "It could be.  No one knows what the author was thinking other than the writer himself.”  Dean chimed in with the sentence of the man across the table.

 “Maybe one day the writer will reappear with clarification.  Or a new work that complements the previous work.”  Deandra said again continuing the previous sentence.

 "How long was that one day?"

 The man's question made Dean subconsciously think of an answer.  The eyes of the two men were both fixed on the book on the table.

 "I don't know, maybe a year or two.  Or maybe even five to ten years.”

 Hearing Deandra's answer made the man chuckle again.

 "He doesn't have that much time."

 "That's right, that means this book will forever be a failure."  Dean said with a sad smile.

 "Then why don't you just write it?"

 There was a question on Deandra's face.  The man's words provoked him to straighten his eyes.  He looked at the man who was also looking at him.

 "I can't write.  Why not just you?  You're a writer right?"

 "I can't."

 "Why not?"

 There was a moment of silence, the man just kept looking at him with a smile.  Making the uncomfortable feeling that had disappeared now bothered Deandra again.

 Still without saying anything, the man reached for the book on the table and opened it.  Right on the last page.  A clean white page that has been bothering Deandra since yesterday.

 The man no longer looked at Deandra.  His gaze was focused on the book on the table.  The pen that had been perched in his right pocket he took.  Then it opens without a problem.  A second later, black ink stained the white pages of the book.  The man was actually writing something there.

 "What does it mean?"  Deandra spoke softly.  He continued to stare at the writing on the sheet with a surprised look on his face.

 There was clearly a name written on it.  'Deandra', yes, the man just wrote his name.  Where as far as he remembered, Deandra had not introduced himself at all since their first meeting.  He hadn't even introduced him by name.  Is this a coincidence?

 No, this isn't it.  Just as Dean straightened his eyes and looked at the man across the table, he knew that this was no coincidence.  The man was still smiling at him.  An inexplicable mysterious smile.

 "Because this book was created, so you can finish it."

 Those were the last words Dean heard.  Because right after that, the book on the table miraculously gave off a blinding light that covered Deandra's vision.

 "What?  What does this mean?  Who's he?"

 Dean had a thousand questions on his mind.  But none of it was able to come out of his mouth.  Something has swallowed this young man.  Something that cannot be explained by words.  Dean could feel his body crashing, falling.

 Is he dead?  It's possible that the man blinded him with something and then killed him in this library.  That's what had crossed his mind.  Even his suspicions got stronger when Dean could feel a strong gust of wind hitting him who was closing his eyes.

 "Oh, good.  I died in a very strange way.”

 To be continued....