Before you read any further, you need to know that this isn't a fictional story, even though it may pass itself off as one. I have stopped writing complete fiction, for I have become incapable of lying well. That doesn't discount me from lying, though, every now and then, especially during interviews where I have to talk about my "writing methods."

I tell them I wake up at 6 in the morning, have a glass of milk, and no caffeine in the day. Strictly, no caffeine, because it hampers the flow of creativity, contrary to what people really think.

They think I'm the healthiest writer ever.
And I don't really care.

Anyway, enough about me. You can ask me about how I go about the process of writing some other day, when you're interviewing me maybe. I'll try not to lie.

Evan was a friend's neighbour. I met him somewhere back in the month of June, when he had returned from a trip to the States.
He had an oval face and bead like eyes. He looked rather boyish. But when he spoke, he spoke like a man.
We became good friends over a period of time, and he taught me a little bit of gardening as well, in his spare time.

"The secret to becoming a botanist is to love nature. And I love plants."
"Also, one needs a calm disposition like yours to become a good botanist. Worriers like me don't qualify, really.", I added.

Evan was the calmest person I had seen. He had the ability to literally take everything into his stride.

So I was surprised to see him fidgeting, and walking up and down the street one day.

" What is it?", I asked him.

"I've been asked to go out for a dinner party with relatives."

"Cool."

"Its not. I have to meet a bunch of relatives I despise."

"Oh."

Evan went home after telling me what was troubling him. He said he needed time to "mentally prepare" himself for where he was going.

I saw him in a dapper suit the next day, all set to go to the dinner meet.

"Hope I survive it.", he said, before leaving.

" You will.", I assured him.

Evan reached the venue on time, and hesitatingly made small talk with his relatives for sometime.

The dinner plates rattled as Miss Rosie stood up to make a speech.

"This evening means so much to us...especially because of Evan's presence. Evan, young boy, we love you."

Everyone cheered on.

Evan had stayed at the dinner meet for forty minutes, and he had begun to look nervous already.
He managed an anxious smile to that little remark.

"So as you all know...", Miss Rosie rambled on.
Evan kept looking at his watch, restlessly, his mind far away from the dinner table.

Until Miss Rosie jerked him out of his reverie and said, "Will you dance with me?"

His jaw dropped. He looked flabbergasted, but decided not to say anything.
Miss Rosie took him by the hand and waltzed with him to a slow tune.

"Killing me softly...", she sang on, as her hands glibly slid down his back.

Evan couldn't react for a second.

" I'll just...join you in another moment.", he said the next instant, nearly out of breath.

"Sure, dearie.", she said, and kissed him.

Evan stormed into a corner and removed the lipstick stain. He calmed his pulses, first of all, and then made a beeline for the counter to order himself a glass of wine before returning to the table.

" So, how are you all doing?", he asked everyone as he took his seat.

Everyone was surprised by this sudden change in his demeanour. He had gone from silent to chirpy in a second.

"It was all of that dancing with Rosie, wasn't it?", Mr Brown claimed. Miss Rosie blushed.

"Of course it was. She's beautiful, I must say.", Evan smiled.

" Oh. Thank you Evan."

"Mr Brown, if you don't mind me asking, for how long do we have to sit here?"

"Just till another round of drinks, Evan. Oh, there they come."

Evan heaved a sigh of relief. He won't have to play-act himself anymore.

"So tell us, young man, what do you want to do?", he asked, as he gulped his wine.

"Maybe I'll become a botanist."

"What?", screamed Mrs Brown in horror.

"No, I mean...its a delightful profession of course.", enthused Mrs Brown, the next second.

" Yes, yes. Plus children these days want to different things. Let them... chart their own courses, I say.", said Mr Brown.

"Thanks, Mr Brown."

The dinner meet finished at 11:30.

"Thank you son. For coming...", said Mr Brown, as Evan got up to leave.

And then he was about to say some more. But he stopped.

" Son......."

"Yes, sir?"

"Son...umm... Nothing...I think I should sleep. Feeling a bit exh..au.sted."

"Sure sir. And bye Miss Rosie."

"Bye...", she smiled faintly.

I called up Evan the following morning. But not to ask him how the dinner meet had been.

" Evan, I read the morning newspaper today. It says, '10 family members dead because of wine poisoning at the Gratia.' Wasn't that the place you went to, last night?"

"Yeah."

"So?"

"Umm. Ever heard of deipnophobia?"

"No.", I said.

" Google it, and in the meantime, I'll just water my tulips."

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(Deipnophobia is a fear of large dinner meals.)