Nafi hopped inside the apartment. He watched him attempting suicide but he rushed and grabbed his body. The whole room was dark except the TV and laptop screen. The screen was brighter. During the time Nafi grabbed the man, he sounded like a frog and moaned.

"I wanna die...I wanna die" screamed the man.

"STOP IT!" shouted Nafi.

"I do not belong to anyone! I am not for anyone" exclaimed the man with excitement.

Nafi hit his head with a bat that made him fainted. He smelt a sense of odor from the suicidal man's body because he realized that the man was taking something awful. In the addition to that, he saw the pieces of tobacco and weed were spread on the floor with a guitar which was kept stable in the wall while on the table, there was an old SLR camera.

While the man was fainted, he looked young, clean shaven and thin. He wore a blue stripped white, formal shirt with a black pant. He even had a semi-long hair. On his hand, there was a file on which a CV was included inside it. When Nafi opened the file, he started to read the CV.

NAME: Murshed Ahmed.

HOMETOWN: Bagherhat Khulna

GRADUATED FROM: Mac University Bangladesh, CGPA: 4.00

As CV was quite long, he could not get into further detail. Instead, he went took the body into the couch and kept him sitting while fainted. When he took the bottle of water and dropped them on the face, he woke up and was huffing down in such a manner that he got scared of the situation.

"Where am I?" gasped Murshed, the suicidal man.

"You are still at home, dear. What happened?" asked Nafi.

"It's a disaster! IT'S A DISASTER! F*CK SOCIETY!" screamed Murshed.

"Calm down! Can you explain the problem to me, what really happened?" exclaimed Nafi.

"It was in the morning, I submitted my Curriculum Virtae into a beverage company. I got a call for an interview. I was happy. So happy that I could not have imagined. After a long time, I was about to get a job! Until, I went to the queue where the interviews were running. Unfortunately, when I entered, I gave a lot of correct answers. But look, what happened?

"You might have an impressive record of CGPA but what you do not have is the potential or creativity" said the interviewer.

On the further note, I was distressed and upset. I have no hope, nor to stay in this world" narrated Murshed.

"I understand, there are better jobs to offer" said Nafi.

"Don't lecture me with this! I submitted my advertisements and work to the company and what the hell happened? Just a fucking loss" said Murshed whose anger was more of a brat than a scream of the flock of crows.

There were few minutes of the awkward pause where Murshed was resting at the couch. Nafi stared at the guitar as well as the music notes which were scattered down as well as Murshed's problems.

"What's with that guitar?" asked Nafi.

"It's my life. I wanted to be a singer but my parents did not support me even if I am graduated! It might sound whiny but I had no other choice but die!" said Murshed.

"There is nothing to be dead about, this is not the end of the world!" said Nafi.

"I am tired of this clichés! Go away from me!" screamed Murshed.

Therefore, Nafi went to his floor. He felt something was not right with him. All along, he was blinded by the colorful world which was not suitable for any 'real people'. The delusion might be the on the flowery part of the society on which the thorn are not seen. Toxins, poisons are the sincerest form of flattery when some are deluded by reality and have the identity crisis.

He was thinking about how he would write an article? Would his story be like an ordinary one than of 'extraordinary stories'? On the other hand, it is true that history repeats itself.

Suicide is honestly, injurious for health. Building life is like a scrapbook which could be combined into his story that could be a phenomenon or may be, worse. His writing skills might be impressed by the society. In the contradictory reality, he wrote anything but his originality. The real people like his uncle was not really impressed with his writing skills on his adulthood.

As a child, when he was writing a story on something that was not expected from a child.

"Uncle, look, I wrote a story" said the younger, eleven year old Nafi with a cheerful smile.

When he saw the story, he was extremely impressed because it might refer to a folktale with a twist.

It was a story about the two daughters of a farmer: one was sad and the other was happiness. Sadness was loyal and obedient. On the contrary, happiness was short tempered and deluded of the realities of life.

When her stepmother forced her to bring groceries, she was passing through the road of the graveyard. Across the graveyard she helped three spirits: one to give her a lost doll that was hidden in a pippala tree. The second one which helped the spirits to send a letter to her lost lover which made him emotional. The third one was helping a son to get adopted by a well-established family. She all did that. As a reward, she got a reward from a witch which not only had full of groceries but a full of rich elements such as gold, a pearl necklace and high amounts of coins.

On the contrary, happiness came to know about sadness's secret and avoided all the help chores instructed by the spirits. Thus, her beautiful face had turned into more of a bald 'Freddy Krueger' or a burned look she was barely unrecognizable-thanks to the witch's magic.

That is why we say "if you learn to help one, by not avoiding the reality, you can create your reality and help the others".

Reality is more of a Mandela Effect on which means that there are various dimensions of a memory that even some of the major remembrances could alter.

Back to the present, it was daytime, he went to a tea shop. When he was drinking tea, he just sat on a chair.