He puts on his tracksuit and sneakers, picks up the phone, and creates an in-progress playlist. He takes his headphones and hits the tarmac.

The contract is a good change, he thinks, putting one foot in front of the other. He could live in a better apartment; in a few months he might put a car on the road and people might know what kind of person they’re dealing with when he starts putting his keys on the table.

It finishes the first three kilometers and stops at a roundabout with lush greenery. He stretches his legs and hands then gets into a plank position and does twenty push-ups. He gets onto his back and does fifty sit-ups. Once he’s done, he’s drenched in sweat.

He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, takes off his glasses, wipes himself with his undershirt and climbs back onto the tarmac for the three kilometers back. If he signs the contract, there is a good chance that he will strengthen his position among the country’s middle class. There is also a good chance that he writes his books less and less.

He arrives home, takes a screenshot of his playlist, posts it on his social media, and jumps in the shower. He’s leaving on a date. One of his book readers wants to meet him for a drink.

He sits on the first floor of a popular town joint. In front of him is a European. They’re probably both waiting for their date.

The European man orders soup, he orders masala tea without milk and squeezes it in his hands while he thinks about the contract in his inbox. If he signs it, he could start going on vacation. He closes his eyes and imagines the sand on his feet and the breeze on his face.

But he also needs to be able to dream. People work their entire lives so that they can be free, dream, bathe in the sun, and do what they love. He has it now and he can’t put a price on it.

He’s watching his watch; her appointment is thirty minutes late. His anxiety begins to mount. The lady he meets, he doesn’t know nothing about her while the lady reads it, and knows all about him.

Her phone is vibrating, the lady had arrived. She sees her coming up the stairs out of the corner of her eye. He stands up and hugs her with pleasure.

He asks her if she sings. She raises her eyebrows. She looks at him half-heartedly.

“You know, I wanted to know the face behind your amazing handwriting and at the same time, I was afraid to meet you. What if I didn’t love you and had to stop reading you altogether? Losing two readers in one day? She tells him jokingly and they go their separate ways.

He arrives home after the prime-time news, changes to bed and in doing so, he looks at himself in the mirror and realizes he can’t sign the contract. He needed to live his current life, to write, to meet his readers and to change their mindsets freely and not on a watch.

To appreciate the ability to be free, the ability to dream, the ability to be possible. Besides, a contract may make him want to put a car on the road, but it is the words he writes that make him want to take the plane.

He wakes up the next morning and writes a regret email, then sits down and wonders if he made the right decision.

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