Rien sat quietly in his chair inside the aircraft before standing and walking toward the room.
"Everything in this world is very better on the scale of imagination, but yet the most beautiful life is the imaginary one," Rien said before opening the door.
Inside, he saw Bharat sitting on the bed. Bharat looked up at him and smiled.
"Since when does a fiction character get into imagination?" Bharat asked teasingly.
Rien smiled and sat down on the chair, looking at Bharat.
"Your framework cannot define me; therefore, your conclusion is invalid," Rien said calmly.
Bharat rolled his eyes before speaking. "You are still a fiction in my perspective."
Rien gave a small smile. "The most dangerous form of blindness is believing that your perspective is the only reality," Rien said before leaning back in his chair.
Bharat smiled calmly and spoke again. "The readers can see you through the fourth wall. You are nothing more than a show."
Rien smiled and looked directly at the fourth wall.
"Readers can see me? They are probably trying to stretch their imagination far enough to create the scene in their mind, and you think they can see me?" Rien said before looking back at him.
Bharat smiled and met Rien's eyes. "You really think you are reality?" Bharat asked, a hint of interest shining in his eyes.
Rien smiled and leaned slightly toward him.
"The thing you call reality and my reality are just like two neighbors sitting in their houses. Each believes their house is reality. You cannot put the label of fiction on me because you did not create me—you merely revealed me. My reality works on the same level as yours," Rien said calmly.
Bharat smiled. "You have a point, but do you have proof that your reality is as real as mine?" Bharat asked with a serious gaze.
Rien leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to Bharat.
"Do you have proof that your reality is real? You simply named it reality. You cannot say it is reality just because the word exists, when even its meaning is made up," Rien asked, his expression calm.
Bharat looked at Rien before speaking softly. "I am real. That is the proof that mine is reality."
Rien smiled faintly. "Is this how you define it?" Rien asked.
Bharat looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
Rien met his eyes and smiled slightly.
"The thing you call reality entirely depends on how you define it," Rien said calmly.
Bharat smiled again. "I physically exist in my reality. All people have physical forms. You do not," Bharat said, determination clear in his voice.
Rien raised an eyebrow.
"So that does not mean you are real, because being real and existing are two different things. You can force existence. If you ask me for the definition of reality, then I think: 'I know, therefore I am.' Because I am real, I never doubt my reality—for doubt itself requires a doubter. You see reality as originality," Rien said.
Bharat smiled. "I can say the same thing."
Rien looked through the window at the clear sky before speaking.
"So this does not make your reality higher than mine, nor mine higher than yours. We are like neighbors, and reality is our house. We cannot interfere with each other's privacy—not because we cannot, but because we should not. You physically exist, but that does not make you superior in reality. There are infinite planets beyond your Earth that you have never seen or touched, yet you cannot say they do not exist simply because you cannot touch them. Being physical means existence, not reality," Rien said, turning back to him.
Bharat smiled. "At least I physically exist, which you do not," Bharat said seriously.
Rien smiled calmly at him.
"Where do you think you physically exist? In your reality. For you, what lies beyond does not exist—but that does not mean you are the only reality. It only means your brain cannot process beyond its layer. For me, you are not real either, because fiction means being someone's idea or thought. Yet I am reality, just like you. We are simply too far apart—not by distance, but by layers of reality," Rien said before standing up.
Bharat smiled at him. "You are smart," Bharat said.
Rien smiled and asked calmly, "How old are you, Mr. Writer?"
Bharat smiled and looked at the ceiling. "Well, if I tell the truth, I am fifteen."
Rien looked at the sky through the window. "You are a maniac," Rien said calmly.
Bharat stood up and looked at Rien. "Why do you keep calling me a writer if you are not fiction and already exist?"
Rien turned to him with a smile.
"I do not want to see you like normal people, because you are a writer—the one whose imagination always breaks the limits of reality," Rien said calmly.
Bharat smiled. "So, what do you want now?"
Rien looked directly into his eyes.
"From now on, I handle my life and reality," Rien said.
Bharat smiled softly. "So, I am getting fired?"
Rien smiled. "You are no longer allowed in another reality, Mr. Writer."
Bharat began walking toward the wall.
"Well, I will keep the records. I do not want my fans to miss the masterpiece," Bharat said before vanishing into the air.
I watched him vanish before sitting back down on the chair.
"Reality," I said, closing my eyes calmly.
Suddenly, Lan Xia entered the room and looked at me.
"Are you sleeping, Rien?" Lan Xia asked.
I opened my eyes and looked at her.
"Yes, just trying to calm my mind," I said calmly.
Lan Xia smiled at me and quietly left the room.
Miss Yin looked at her before asking, "What is he doing?"
Lan Xia nodded and sat down on a chair. "Yes, I don't know, but I am feeling different now," Lan Xia said.
Kuto nodded and looked at the others. "Right. Maybe it's because we are very high in the sky," Kuto said.
Everyone nodded and returned to their work.