I open Insta and there she is again. She stares at me. Right through the picture. I slam the phone down and curl up in my bed. I don’t dare see that picture again. It was as if she was staring right at me. That creeps me out. In the caption, she says thank you and goodbye.

I guess that is the end of my pseudo-relationship with this girl named C. If she goes, this will be the end of my dreams of meeting her in my life. I don’t have to worry.

There will be other lifetimes.

We will meet. One day.

For the 10th time, I have been deserted by a girl that was cozying up with me and then vanishes. Just without a trace. Without a goodbye.

She just runs away somewhere I will never be able to ever chat with her again.

Maybe I was too desperate. I must have said something. Or maybe I must have scared her off. Or she stumbled upon some information that I am psycho. Maybe she had nightmares about me. Or that she gets really sick every time she thinks of me. Or maybe she doesn’t like me at all. That another super hot sexy guy came along and has lost all interest in me.

I guess I will keep looking.

The dream is to earn a billion dollars and find the girl of my dreams.

With a Pulitzer Prize, I can start building on my novel writing. Become the next JK Rowling. Whoever she is, there is no way to tell who that person is until we meet. Will she be the kind, loving, hip and extroverted beauty that I have ever dreamt of my entire life? Will she be cute and funny in her interactions and love only me and nobody else? Will she become the one that I will marry, live in a dream world in the real world, where we will be left alone to raise a few lovely rabbits?

There is no other way to say it. You and I against the world.

So I want to make a billion bucks. Considering JK Rowling is the only author that has crossed the billion-dollar mark, there is very little hope for us ordinary folks ever to cross it. I grab The Secret book and reread it. If there is a way, how can it happen. I’ve been sitting in front of my computer thinking of a billion bucks and I cannot type a single word. I’ve piled up a million things to do on my to do list to be the next JK Rowling. Yet, I cannot seem to even twitch a muscle.

HELP!

Every week, I meet someone new in person. There are a thousand people on my Tinder list already. Choosing who to go out with is more straightforward than I think. Nobody cares to talk to me and when someone does, I know I got to go out with the person. We chat, we laugh, we tease, we joke. At the end of the day, we never see each other again.

When does one understand how the Tinder dating machine works? I hear of all these girls saying that a lot of guys hook up here on the app but I have no clue what that actually means. I mean how do they do it? I don’t want to know. Why should I know when I don’t plan to do that.

I’ve been flipping channels. I hear news about me everywhere. I turn on the radio. I hear news about me on the radio too. I look in the papers. I see news that has to do with me.

No! I’ve already admitted to myself that I am crazy and that all these things have to do with me or not to do with me. Who is there to confirm that all of this is real. There is hidden news that only I can detect and nobody else. I guess this is just me thinking to myself that when I see a bird, it means that I am a bird. Or something. Oh My God!

The corridors fill up with students shuffling between classes as I move through the sea of people not knowing where to go. At first, this place seems a little strange as I am already a college graduate. I am here in this high school without any idea what I am doing here.

“Hey Jake.”

“C?”

“No I am not C. But you better get to your class soon.”

“What class?”

“Music class. I am assigned to be your mentor.”

“Who are you?”

“Just your mentor. Don’t ask any more questions. You better get going before you get in trouble.”

Nothing makes sense. Why am I here?

Every day I come to class. I have no idea what I am doing here.

C or whoever the mentor is hasn’t mentioned her name yet. I suspect that she might be a substitute of C who is trying to make me go crazy because she exists and I don’t.

Of all the things I choose to believe, I believe that maybe I am not supposed to be here.

That, I am here because I am in another one of those dreams where I cannot get out. Maybe I should try calling President Trump? Or jump out of the window and I can fly like Neo? Or maybe try dancing with the rabbits. Buy one first. Talk to them too.

I get to the music room, and there are people there dancing.

“I thought this was music class.”

“Yes. But we have others practice dance while the rest do music. It’s all the same. Performing arts.”

“Oh…”

“Go grab a seat. Class is about to start.”

I grab a seat at the back of the room packed with students. I think I will not be seen and that is a good thing.

C steps into the room.

“C!” I shout. Everybody is staring at me again.

“C???”

“Who is C?”

“I don’t know?” I mutter.

“What?”

“C is just the first note in the scale of you know music. CDEFG.”

“WOW! You are deep,” a girl says who just turned back around to face the front of the classroom after giving me a 'you are cool' look.

I giggle and keep to myself.

It’s the last day of class for the semester.

I run up to C and say, “You know. You’ve taught us for so long. May I know your name?”

“My name is Key.”

“Right. Key.”

“So you have been teaching here for a long time? You look like C to me.”

“Who is C?”

“Oh… just a celebrity that I thought you were her or something.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a celebrity that I have a crush on. Maybe you are her or something. I don’t know. I am not making sense to myself either.”

Key looks at me trying to suppress laughter. "I am..."

---

Here are the rest of the parts if you missed them.

Part 1
Part 2

This is the end of my C Short Story. Please ask me any questions if you have any. Thanks!