Love is only a feeling

I was a bit nervous, at first, not knowing where I would be placed until they selected me to work for The Therapeutic Legislation of Psychologists. I am so glad to be part of the select few. I’d be working closely with those who made us who we are - a better society - by genetically removing certain harmful feelings. Back in the learning center, I was top of my class, always in control, so I’m not that surprised I got this position. I head home, after the last day of Learning, and immediately see the letter waiting for me in my mailbox.

Good evening Malik,

Congratulations on completing twelve years of education. You are now ready to enter the workforce. You’ve been selected to work at Department PSY-679, you’ll be working on organizing and classifying documents. Here are some ground rules that you must follow at all times:

1. Never ask questions about the content of the files

2. Never enter the rooms with the number 8

3. Never speak about what you see or do at your job to people outside the workplace

4. Never lie

Thank you,

The Therapeutic Legislation of Psychologists

*Ignorance is bliss, tis’ folly to be wise.*

I was so excited reading this letter. I wish Noura was here with me, so I could share the news with her. Thinking about her always makes my heart beat faster. I wouldn’t tell her, of course, but just thinking about sharing this moment makes my cheeks burn and my stomach tighten. I pause for a moment. Why do I feel this way? What is this? Why do I always feel like this when I think about Noura? Alone in my apartment, the silence was deafeningly loud.

***

On my first day of work, I noticed that everything was redacted in the files. I was curious at first, but I was never allowed to ask questions about the content of the job. My supervisor was one of the head Psychologists; they were watching my every move. My supervisor instructed me to go through archives and verify some files. I came across a document labelled Poetry-0080. Why was this in my files? 8-labels are high-security, top-secret documents. There must have been a mix-up in the dispatch of my files. I know I’m not supposed to, but I open the folder and see a few papers written in a format I have never seen before. I start reading:

Dear Angel,

The intensity between you and me

This intimacy, that you can't seem to see

Our meeting was a fortunate stroke of serendipity

A warm feeling - unreal and amusing

Butterflies in my stomach - collywobbles

Heart skipping a beat

Pupils dilating, bewitched by your beauty

I wrote this for you and your eyes only

It's half past five, with no more time left

In sickness and in health,

I love you and your eyes only

Love,

Jeremaine.

As I pondered over the meaning behind the poem, my stomach was in knots and my heart was pounding uncontrollably. I couldn’t handle this feeling, this unexplainable feeling that these words somehow made clear. That’s what they called Love. Is this what I was feeling all along? The forbidden feeling.

I heard footsteps, and my heart dropped. My supervisor was on her rounds, and I was next. I rapidly closed the folder, and shoved the document in my pocket. An announcement has been made through the intercom saying a document labelled “Poetry 0-800” is missing. They ask around, and I lie to my supervisor without hesitation. By the time I left the building, I had already broken two out of four rules.