Days Remaining: 14Bank Account: ₹50
"This is statistically impossible," Maya said, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she glared at the TV screen. "He is a supernatural entity existing outside of capitalism. He shouldn't have a visible savings account."
"It's a metaphor, Maya," Sam argued, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "He opened a joint account to show his commitment. It's beautiful. It represents spiritual merging through finance."
They were sprawled on Elian's lumpy beige couch. Sam had the popcorn bowl on his lap. Maya had the soda. Elian was squeezed in the middle, looking like a hostage in his own home.
Lyra was floating cross-legged in the air, directly between Elian and the TV. She was blocking the subtitles with her boots. "He's wearing a Rolex," she groaned, pointing a translucent finger at the actor's wrist. "A Reaper with a Rolex. Does he have appointments? 'Sorry, can't reap your soul at 4, I have a tennis match.' Ridiculous."
Elian didn't say anything. He was trying to ignore her, but it was impossible. The air around him was freezing because she was hovering so close.
He tried to focus on the movie. Eternal Rain. On screen, the Movie Reaper stood in the rain, looking up at the girl's window. He was brooding. He was handsome. He was tragic. And he made it look so easy. He just... stayed. The universe bent around him because he was in love.
I wish it was that simple, Elian thought, a heavy ache settling in his chest. I wish I could just stand in the rain and have that be enough.
"And the coat," Lyra continued, oblivious to the mood. "It drags on the floor. Do you know how much ectoplasm gathers on hem-lines? He's not a romantic lead, he's a janitorial hazard. If I wore that, I'd trip and accidentally reap a squirrel."
"The costume design is derivative," Maya critiqued, unknowingly agreeing with the ghost. "It's giving 'Matrix' reject."
"Exactly!" Lyra pointed at Maya. "Finally, someone with taste! Tell them, glasses girl!"
On screen, the music swelled. Violins cried. The Reaper phased through the window. He stood over the sleeping girl. The lighting was soft and purple. He reached out a gloved hand, his fingers glowing with magic. He brushed a stray hair from her forehead. The girl sighed in her sleep, leaning into the warmth of his hand. She didn't shiver. She smiled.
Elian stared at the screen. His throat felt tight. He looked at his own hand resting on his knee. It was pale and shaking slightly. He remembered the kitchen. The smell of chocolate cake. The inch of space between his thumb and Lyra's cheek. He remembered how badly he had wanted to close that gap. To touch her. To know if she felt like air or static or ice.
But he hadn't. Because he knew the truth.
"Oh, please," Lyra scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard her whole body rotated in the air. "If he touched her like that, she'd wake up screaming. His body temperature is absolute zero. She'd have ice crystals on her eyebrows."
Elian gripped his jeans. "Maybe he dampened his field," he muttered under his breath, trying to defend the fantasy.
"You can't dampen it that much!" Lyra argued, swooping down to hover right in Elian's face. "It's physics, Elian! Entropy! If he transfers that much heat, he destabilizes his form! He'd explode! She'd be covered in Reaper-goo!"
"He's holding her hand," Elian whispered, his eyes locked on the TV where the actors fingers entwined perfectly. "Look. She likes it."
"It's CGI!" Lyra groaned. "It's green screen! In reality, her fingers would turn black and fall off! It's gangrene, Elian! It's not romance, it's a medical emergency! He is literally killing her with his affection!"
She wouldn't stop. She was tearing apart the one fantasy Elian wanted to believe in. Every logic hole she pointed out was just another reminder of why they could never happen. She was listing all the reasons why he could never hold her.
"Just let him have it!" Elian snapped.
The shout rang out in the small living room. Maya froze with her soda halfway to her mouth. Sam stopped chewing. The silence was deafening.
"Let who have what?" Sam asked slowly.
Elian realized he was shouting at the TV. His face burned hot, a flush creeping up his neck. He looked at Lyra. She looked surprised, eyebrows raised. He looked at his friends. They looked concerned.
"The... the character," Elian stammered, gesturing vaguely at the screen. "Just let him have the moment. Who cares about the physics? It's a movie."
"I care," Maya said flatly. "It breaks immersion."
"I care!" Lyra shouted, floating upside down. "It's spreading misinformation about my workplace environment!"
Elian sank back into the cushions, pulling his hood up to hide his face. He felt exposed. He felt stupid. He felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his ribs.
Sam narrowed his eyes. He looked at Elian. He looked at the romantic scene on the TV. Then he looked back at Elian's flushed, angry face. A slow, "wise" nod spread across Sam's face.
"I see what this is," Sam whispered loudly.
"What?" Elian snapped, defensive.
"It's the sexual tension," Sam declared.
Elian choked on his own spit. "The what?"
"You're projecting," Sam explained, waving a popcorn kernel like a professor's pointer. "You see this hot, brooding Reaper guy getting the girl, and it triggers you. Because you're lonely, Elian. You're eighteen. Your hormones are raging. You want a goth girlfriend to touch your face and defy the heavens."
"I do not!" Elian protested, his voice cracking into a high squeak.
"It's okay," Maya patted Elian's knee clinically. "Cuffing season is hard for everyone. But screaming at the TV is a cry for help, Elian. Maybe download Tinder?"
"I don't need Tinder!" Elian insisted, his face now burning brighter than the sun.
He dared a glance at Lyra. He hoped she would be angry. He hoped she would be offended. She wasn't.
Lyra was cackling. She was rolling in the air, clutching her stomach, laughing so hard she was vibrating. "He thinks you're horny!" she wheezed. "Oh my god. 'Sexual tension.' Sam is a genius. You're just frustrated, Elian! That explains everything!"
Elian stared at her. She was laughing at him. She thought it was a joke. She had no idea that Sam was right, but for the wrong reasons. Elian was frustrated. He was lonely. But not because he wanted some random girl on Tinder. He wanted her. And she was floating there, laughing at the very idea of him wanting someone, completely oblivious to the fact that she was the one breaking his heart.
The disconnect hurt more than the cold. It made him feel small.
"I'm going to get water," Elian muttered.
He stood up abruptly, knocking the popcorn bowl. He walked out of the room before anyone could see the wetness in his eyes.
He went into the kitchen. He didn't get water. He leaned against the counter, burying his face in his hands, breathing hard.
"It's just a movie," he whispered to himself. "Stop it. It's just a stupid movie."
A cold breeze drifted past his ear. Lyra phased through the wall. She sat on top of the fridge, still grinning, swinging her legs.
"Sam is right, you know," she teased, looking down at him.
Elian didn't look up. "About what?"
"You need a girlfriend," she said. "Someone to scream with. Someone alive. Someone who doesn't cause gangrene."
Elian looked up then. He looked at her pale face, her dark eyes, the mischievous smile that he had memorized without meaning to. I don't want someone alive, he wanted to scream. I want you.
But he couldn't say it. He had 14 days left. He couldn't ruin the time they had with a confession she couldn't return.
"I don't want a girlfriend," Elian said tiredly.
"Why not?" Lyra asked, tilting her head. "You're rich now. You have 50 rupees. You're a catch. Go find a nice human girl."
Elian looked at her lips, then at her eyes. The longing was a physical weight in his stomach.
"Because," Elian said, grabbing a glass to hide his face. "I don't have time."
"Right," Lyra's smile faltered slightly. She looked at the calendar on the fridge. 14 Days.
"Yeah," Elian lied. "That's the only reason."
"Coming back, Elian?" Sam shouted from the living room. "He's about to fight a Demon with a baguette!"
"Go," Lyra nudged him with her foot, a gentle puff of cold air against his shoulder. "Go watch your fake romance. I'll stay here and judge your fridge magnets."
Elian nodded. He walked back to the living room. He sat between Sam and Maya. He watched the Reaper on screen kiss the girl. And for the rest of the movie, he didn't say a word, while Lyra's laughter echoed softly from the other room, sounding less like joy and more like a ghost haunting a house she could never really live in.