CHAPTER THREE: How?!

The soft hues of the setting sun paint the sky in shades of peach and lavender as I hurry down the familiar path towards home. The crisp air teases at my cheeks, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of a chilly night. My heart continues to dance with excitement, and I could hardly contain the bubbling energy that courses through my veins.  

As I approach the front door, I hear the comforting murmur of my parents' voices inside. 

"I'm home!" I call out, the jingle of the keys announcing my arrival.

Mama’s voice, warm and inviting, responds, "Ana, darling, we're just about to sit down for dinner. Join us, won't you?"

A smile plays on my lips, but I shake my head with regret. "Not tonight, mama. I've got something brewing in my mind for my upcoming novel. It’s something that can't wait. I promise I'll make it up to you both this weekend."

My parents exchange glances, then nod with indulgent smiles, a silent way of wishing me well.

Upstairs in my room, I perch on my favorite armchair. The soft glow of my desk lamp cast a warm ambiance, setting the stage for the creative journey that awaits me. With a swift motion, I turn my laptop on. My fingers dance across the keys as I open G****e Docs.

The first scene unfolds in my mind. the characters breathing life into the digital canvas. Yet, just as I poise my fingers to type the first letter, a sudden wave of dizziness engulfs me. The room spins, my head throbbing and my forehead sweating.

I say in frustration. "I can't be sick, not now or until my novel is finished."

The world seems to spin less violently when I close my eyes, and the idea of a short nap becomes an inviting escape from my unexpected physical discomfort. I ease myself into the comfort of my armchair, then succumb to the soothing lull of fatigue, my eyelids surrendering to the weight of slumber.

As I teeter on the edge of dreams, a gentle tap on my shoulder pulls me out of my sleep. Startled, I blink away the remnants of sleep, disoriented in the dim light. When my vision clears, I almost jump at my seat, my heart pounding fast and loud. Oh my goodness! The tranquility of my bedroom has vanished, replaced by the quite surroundings of the Moonlit Book Cafe's hidden room! 

I take off my eyeglasses, squeeze my eyes close, scratch them with my fingers, blink them several times, before putting my eyeglasses back on to make sure I’m not mistaken with what I’m seeing. Then, my eyes widen as I take in the book-lined walls. Confusion creeps over me, a perplexed frown knitting my brows together.

What the hell has just happened?! Why am I back in here?! I was just in my bedroom a few minutes ago!

"Excuse me, Ms. Sanchez," a soft voice breaks the silence, and I turn to see a staff member, the same person who escorted me here earlier.  She’s standing nearby, her eyes warm with curiosity.

"What... how did I get back here?" I stammer.

The staff member smiles, showing the gap in her front teeth. Her smile amplifies the lingering unease. "Welcome to the Moonlit Book Cafe's hidden room. It's a place where the lines between reality and fiction blur, and where stories take on a life of their own."

“What… d-did you just say?” I ask, a hint of frustration in my tone.

"You entered the cafe several hours ago and you haven’t left since," the staff member explains, a mysterious glint in her slanted eyes. "Time is different here, and moments can stretch or contract as stories unfold. You were quite engrossed in your own tale."

A chill gyrates down my spine, but I choose to ignore the staff’s creepy words. “Did you see anyone else with me? Author Agness, have you seen her?"

The staff member's expression shifts, a subtle shadow crossing her features. "Perhaps you'll find the answers you seek as you explore the stories that await you from now on."

With that enigmatic response, the staff leaves the room. The air crackles with a palpable anxiety. Though still grappling with the disorienting shift, I get off the chair and take a tentative step forward. I stumble out of the hidden room, my mind still wrestling with the ethereal encounter. I quicken my pace as I descend the stairs and approach the exit, desperate for some fresh air.

My footsteps echo on the quiet sidewalk as I navigate the narrow alleyways leading away from the cafe. The city's night sounds wrap around me — the distant hum of traffic, the occasional laughter spilling from nearby bars, and the rustle of leaves stirs by a gentle breeze. Yet, despite the ordinary tableau, my thoughts remain suspended in the otherworldly atmosphere of the Moonlit Book Cafe's hidden room.

“What a weird and creepy dream I had,” I chuckle. “I was so excited to write the sequel to Bonded that I dreamed of already being at home, in my bedroom, with my laptop in front of me. Even so, that dream felt so real.”

Several moments pass, but the perplexing haze that’s clouding my mind refuses to dissipate. I walk, almost on autopilot, the path ahead a blur of indistinct shapes and colors. The bustling streets seem distant, as if I move through a surreal dreamscape. In the midst of my daze, I stumble into the crosswalk without registering the changing traffic light. The world blurs around me even more, and the screech of tires cut through the city noise. A flash of yellow looms, and my heart races in panic as a car screeches to a halt just inches from me!

“Ahhh!” I scream, fear booming in my voice as I flump down to the asphalt ground.

Gasps erupt from onlookers, and a crowd gathers around my frozen form. The car owner emerges, a tall figure clad in a tailored, printed suit, radiating a commanding presence. 

"Are you alright?" The words reach me as if from a distance, muffled by the haze in my mind. 

I look up, my eyes meeting the concerned gaze of the man before me. In an instant, my playful imagination strikes like a thunderbolt!

This man could audition as Hugh Montemayor if ever Bonded will become a movie someday.

My imagination begins to teeter between the ebook's description of Hugh and the man before me, my mind working to align the two. The curve of his square jawline and prominent cleft chin, the manliness of his light stubble beard, the intensity in his violet eyes, and even the subtle tilt of his head—each detail is exactly the same.

My eyes continue to linger on the lines of the man's profile. The fictional Hugh has been an enigma forged in the fires of Author Agness’ imagination. The man before me, however, has a tangible presence, his movements and expressions adding depth to the words that have given birth to his fictional lookalike.

"I-I'm fine," I stammer, shaken by the close call and the unexpected appearance of a Hugh lookalike. 

The crowd continues to murmur, their curiosity now split between the near miss and the enigmatic man by the Lamborghini.

The man extends a hand to help me up, his touch sending a jolt through my senses, tingling my entire body. As I rise to my feet, I couldn't escape the feeling that I somewhat know this man.

"Thank goodness you're okay," he says, a genuine concern in his eyes. "I apologize for the scare. Are you sure you're not hurt?"

I nod, still trying to process the situation. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit shaken."

He casts a glance at the Lamborghini, then back at me. "Guess I need to be more careful on the road."

The onlookers, their initial concern transforming into a mixture of awe and excitement, murmur amongst themselves. The man stares back at me, which gives me a sudden flush of self-consciousness. I hastily veer my gaze away, attempting to conceal the lingering curiosity that’s sparked within me.

“I'm glad you're okay. Can I offer you a ride somewhere? It's the least I can do after scaring you like that,” the man says.

Accepting a ride from a Hugh lookalike? It’s like a chapter torn from a dream!

"Thank you, but I think I'll walk. I could use some fresh air," I reply.

The man reaches into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulls out a sleek calling card. My eyes widen with intrigue as I accept it, my fingers brushing against the smooth surface. The printed words reveal a revelation that sends a ripple of shock through me.

"Hugh Montemayor," I murmur, my gaze flicking between the card and the man standing before me.

The man nods, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Yes, that's me. If you need anything… medical attention perhaps, call me.” 

Oh my goodness! The character I’ve admired from the virtual pages of Bonded now stands before me, offering a tangible connection to the world of my imagination! How many more crazy things will happen after this?!