Their next stop was at a wide, tiled store where people did all the things they couldn’t outside it. One of them, a teenager with a group of friends, dropped to his knees and confessed his love to his crush. The look of disgust she shot him should have been fatal, because it targeted his heart, but all he did was shrug it off, laugh, and resume his shopping with his friends. They mocked and humiliated him under the cover of friendly jokes that, according to young people, shouldn’t have been taken seriously. To their surprise, he joined in the merry. This was, after all, Select Your Mood, a famous brand of magic that pushed people into doing anything they wanted, tailored to their exact needs and the responses in case of failure. Mike knew, however, from trial, the horrible after-feeling of failure that hit once the magic lifted. Guilt, self-blaming, and self-loathing were by far the worst.
In another corner, a man in his twenties was screaming at his girlfriend. The yelling, some of it incomprehensible, boiled down to him expressing in vivid detail how their relationship was by far the hardest chunk of shit he ever dumped.
“You are always the victim, aren’t you, Layan? Your wish is my command, baby, I will make you a victim. You are suffocated, you keep telling me? This will tell you what choking actually feels like!” He lunged at her, pressing his bulky grip against the sides of her neck, slamming her against the wall behind her. Some of the bystanders poured in to push him off, and they succeeded, but they couldn’t stop the hail of spits he shot at her. Security, a moment later, appeared and hustled him away in a headlock, raining down their contempt in kicks, slaps, punches, and slurs that included his mother and sisters. The choking girl joined in, hammering down with the shoe she took off her foot.
Mike steered Nair away to an aisle of high shelves lined neatly with Mood Selectors in every form. Some were potions that tasted like strawberries, melons, milk, apples, or an exotic mix he couldn’t identify. The others were anything from bottles of pills, ear or eyedrops, inhalers, or even papers of code to attach to your Codebooks, provided that it had a section in the index titled Moods.
Every cluster of Mood Selector had a title card complete with price pinned beneath it on the shelf. Thirst for Gossip, Flirting Don Juan, Perfectly Calm, Homesick to Be Outside, Ready for Work, Patient Mother, Time to Write, Thirst for Gym Sweat, Public Speaker, Ready to Fight, Happy with Bad Company, Happy with Their Bad Breath, Successful and Achieving, Sex When You Don’t Want to, Hardworking Student, Disciplined and Ready, Important Visit: No Delay, Desire for Long and Boring Lessons, Reject Them Like a Boss, Angry and Bitter, An Hour with the Angel of Forgetfulness: Forget What Liquor Couldn’t Help with, Headache, Coughing, Cold: Escape Your Engagements, Bullshit: Put up with Their Nonsense, Dodge Them Like a Politician, Understanding: A Priest’s compassion, Morning Energy: One Inhale for a Burst of Wakefulness, Retching: Spike Their Drink and Watch Them Puke!, Old Man’s Bones: Be as Tired as your Grandfather, Instant Nap, No is Your Bro, Hangover? Drink Like an Animal and Wake up Like a Champ, Awful Food: Eat Like an Animal and Make your Host Proud Even If the Food His Wife Made Sucks, Embarrass Them: Borrow the Nerve and Balls of Your Old Neighbor.
The price tag on some of them as well as the list of side effects pulled him away from his childish excitement. A good portion was on the cheaper side, but the symptoms once the dose lifted were horrifying.
In the bustling, adjacent aisle, the shelves bore the same assortment of objects, with the exception that they belonged under a sign hanging from the ceiling that read: Home Hallucinations.
People chattered among themselves, discussing at length before placing a Hallucinater in their basket.
The products here were rather depressing. Their prices were nothing he or anyone else couldn’t afford. An entire wall of shelf was dedicated to the brand name What If. He took a heavy breath and started reading.
What If Your Mom was still alive? What If You Didn’t Fail? What If He/She Didn’t Refuse You? What If You Weren’t Sick? What If You Risked It? What If You Didn’t Risk It? What If He/She Treated You Well? What If Your Father Didn’t Mess up Your Life? What If Your Father Didn’t Spend All His Money on His Siblings? What If You Weren’t Yelled At During Your Childhood? What If People Were Nice? What If You Didn’t Have Awful Step Siblings? What If You Read Interesting Books as a Child? What If You Had a Girlfriend? What If Your Cat Was Alive? What If Your Dog Was Alive? What If Your Head Was as Quiet as Your Mouth? What If You Didn’t Get Offended Easily? What If You Could Say What You Couldn’t? What If They Would Listen? What If You Didn’t Waste Time: A Look into What You Could Have Achieved, What If Your Problems Were Monsters You Could Train Yourself to Kill: A Mentor, What If You Weren’t Crippled with Social Anxiety: Your Guide to Living as a Cripple, What If You Had a Therapist Only You Could See? What If You Didn’t Share Your Excitement With People? What If You Didn’t Need Their Validation? What If Your Father Wasn’t Annoyed with Everything You Say? What If Your Crush Never Crushed Your Heart? What If You Never Saw Her/him in the First Place? What If She Wasn’t Your Crush? What If Your Father Didn’t Think He Couldn’t Be Wrong All the Time?
The rest of the aisle featured more cheerful Hallucinaters, but the way there stood behind a wall of murmuring and arguing customers. Nair already had a handful in their basket, rattling as they swept to pay at the register. Whenever he passed that section, he felt as though his heart was asking for leave to stay behind. His heart steered him there, and his heart asked him to stay a while, like an innocent child or an eager lover. What he read there was a language his heart heard faster than his ears. Everything there was the product of human psychology as well as an appeal to the human fantasy. They understood what people wanted and, realizing others wouldn’t give them it at all, decided to show them what it would look like if they did. It didn’t make much difference, actually. Fantasy was fantasy, and fiction would always be sweeter than reality. It was as though you were expecting a soldier to stand with his people, only for him to stand on them in reality. Your expectation was the mercy reality would never give you.
“You are awfully quiet,” Nair said.
“I am sorry, you are right. Did I bore you, by any chance? Have I been doing this for long? Have I been staring at nothing in particular? No,” he sighed, “ah, that’s comforting. Forgive me, but I have to be silent when my heart is speaking.”
She giggled. “The difficulty of loving an author! I love what you say but I have no idea how to respond.”
“You don’t have to.” He smiled.
“You want a dull conversation then, with me doing nothing but nodding and humming? It might sound romantic to you, but then you will see that romance alone doesn’t make for an interesting company.”
“You sound like an author already!”
“I do, don’t I? I will think about it. maybe we will write a book together.”
“You’d like that?” he asked.
“We are already writing our life story together, are we not? We are already coauthors! I want to do so much.”
“You will, Nair, you will.”
