After their conversation last night, Barry and Freya had been in continuous confusion. First, they weren’t sure how they were supposed to leave the Island. And whenever Freya would mention any solution, it would ultimately lead to a dead end.

“Okay, well what about the book you keep mentioning?” Barry said, sitting on the wooden table.

They were finally at Freya’s house again and till now, they were agreeing on pretty much everything. It was said and done that Freya’s supposed to leave with Barry. Although, the questions was still hanging in the air and banging on their heads, ‘How?’

“The Bestiary,” Freya replied, stirring the spoon in the black pot.

Barry got up and walked over to the sink. Filling a glass with water, he peeked over what she was cooking, “Do you need help with that?” He asked casually and Freya shook her head, “Yeah, the Bestiary. What's the deal with it weirdly named book?”

“Hmph, I am not entirely sure,” Freya sipped a bit of the soup and motioned Barry to come over, “From what I have heard,”

Barry carefully took a sip of the soup and mumbled, “Salt,” while listening to Freya attentively. He walked back to his seat and sat down.

“That it is like this magic book-”

“Wow, that’s something I haven’t heard or seen on this Island before,” Barry cracked a joke and laugh whole heartedly while Freya shot him a look, getting him to shut up.

“Anyway,” She went back to stirring. Opening a cabinet, she took out a rock which had salt in it, “This book – the Bestiary – it is like this magic book which helps the owner-”

“Who is the owner?” Barry interrupted,

“No one.”

“But you said -”

“I did and I will say more to lessen your confusion if you quit interrupting me after every two words,” She shot him a tight smile,

“Sorry,” He winked.

“There is no ‘said’ owner of the book. From what the Banshees told me -”

“Hate them.”

“That whoever wants to get the power and magic of the book, he has to drop three drips of his index finger’s blood,”

Barry’s eyes widened, “Wow that’s some – like Jumanji type of shit.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

“Jumanji?” Freya asked, without looking at him.

She turned around swiftly and opened another cupboard. It had a beautiful white bowl with carved wooden spoon. She looked at the empty cupboard and back at Barry,

“Um, you know how I live here alone and barely get any visitors?” She smiled and he nodded, “Well, about that. I only have one bowl and spoon...”

Barry looked at her for a few seconds then his glance fell on the white bowl in her hand. He couldn’t help but wonder how different both of them are and how different their back grounds are.

“You know, back at home, mom has like sixty bowls,” he laughed, “Even though we never have that many amount of people in our house all at once but god damn, my mom is obsessed with cutlery. She has the weirdest and most awesome pieces ever. For example, she has these shot glasses – three of them – with her’s, dad’s and mine initial carved on them. Even though she is against the fact that I even go anywhere near vodka or even wine...”

Freya – who was busy pouring the soup in one single bowl – had all her attention towards Barry now. Barry; who looked sad and lost

Freya looked at him in silence. Trying to figure out her next words carefully. Not being around any other human in years had taken away her ability to comfort or even be there for anyone.

“Barry,”

“No, it’ is – its alright. You don’t have to-” He wiped his tears and stood up,

“No I –” Freya tried to speak,

“Freya, it is really alright. I do not want you to comfort me. You have been through worse. It would be selfish of me to ask-”

Before he could speak further, Freya walked over and pressed her lips against his. It was such a kiss in which the emotion of the kiss a volume of passion is spoken that transcends the works of the great poets combined. Undoubtedly, love is a quiet emotion that in time becomes part of the oxygen you need to breathe, and so though you may feel not sure that it's there, any form of removal and the emotions begin to choke. But not in this case.

In the moment of the kiss, they were their pure and vulnerable selves. It was as if time wouldn’t pass on.

Barry stood shocked as Freya put her arms around his neck. Finally, he gave in. He closed his eyes and let the moment take himself up and way beyond. He could picture it – after all the time he spend with her – he knew the magic had never left. He pulled her closer by her waist, and reciprocated the kiss.

For him, the kiss was not at all the same he had seen in those movies snuggled with his mom, but this one, the one he was having, it steeped in a passion that ignites. It felt like a promise of realness, of the primal desire that lived in both of them. And with it, Barry caressed her cheeks, not breaking the kiss but telling her that he is awake, connected within and all hers.

For Freya, she knew he embraces himself rather than hide as a copy of those romantic idols.

The love between them was so whole. Who knew Barry would find his missing pieces appear so far, far away from his home.

Because he knew Freya’s touch carries such passion, what was scarred becomes soft once more. Because Freya was steady and patient, her open wounds took time to seal and vanish but with Barry, they didn’t hurt as much. Perhaps that is why they say love is such magic, this gift from the universe, this sweet addiction to the man Freya was born to find. For with her twin soul, the only other born in the same flame as her, they are able to bathe one other in warmth and light as easily as they breathe, immune and oblivious to darkness.

She broke the kiss, panting for breath.

Barry looked at her with passion and love in his eyes; for her.

It was rare.

“The only thing I was saying,” she smiled, “Is that you need to eat form the bowl.” She winked and walked away.