05 | Her World vs. His World

The world had always been cold and logical for me.

It was neither grand nor had a divine plan. There existed people, they lead a meaningless life then they were gone. That was reality.

She saw things differently.

The world was full of meaning to her. Fate was in every encounter and every hardship had purpose and every person had ability for redemption.

It was laughable.

Naïve.

And yet, I kept listening.

The same small café we always seemed to meet, we sat across from each other. Now it was almost a routine but I would never call it such.

Absentmindedly she stirred her coffee while watching me with that thoughtful expression I had gotten used to.

She then asked suddenly, "You think I'm naive."

I raised an eyebrow. " I did not think it took you this long to figure it out."

She smiled, unfazed. "That's okay. I think you're too cynical."

I leaned back in my chair. "And why do you think that?"

She replied simply, "Because you will not believe in anything." "It's like you don't want there to be more to life."

I scoffed. "Or perhaps I view things as they are."

She shook her head. "No, your vision is of the way you want things to be." Your hope for something better is easier than believing the world is absurd."

I frowned. "That's ridiculous."

Unbothered, she took a sip of her coffee. "Is it?"

I tried to hold back my frustration as I exhaled sharply. "Tell me something, then. If everything is significant, if there are somehow some keys, then why do the bad things happen? Why do good people suffer?"

She set her cup down gently. "At this point, I don't have all the answers."

"Exactly."

"But I don't need them."

I narrowed my eyes. "How?"

She smiled slightly. "Because I have faith."

Faith.

The very idea of it baffled me.

Faith wasn't built on logic. It wasn't backed by evidence.

It was believing in something without proof.

And that was something I could never do.

I tapped my fingers against the table. "Let me ask you something, then. If I told you there was an invisible dragon standing right next to me, would you believe me?"

She tilted her head, amused. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because there's no reason to."

"Exactly," I said, leaning forward. "You need proof. You need something to justify that belief. So why doesn't that apply to God?"

She didn't look offended. If anything, she looked like she had been expecting this.

"Because faith isn't about proof," she said simply. "It's about trust."

"That's just a nicer way of saying 'blind belief.'"

She shook her head. "No, it's about experience. When you love someone, you don't have 'proof' of that love, do you? You just know."

I exhaled sharply. "That's different."

"How?"

I hesitated.

She leaned in slightly, her expression thoughtful. "Let's talk psychology, then. Do you know about Erik Erikson's stages of development?"

I nodded. "Of course."

"Then you know about the first stage—trust vs. mistrust."

I stiffened slightly.

"The way we experience the world as infants shapes how we view it as adults," she continued. "If we're shown love and security, we learn to trust. If we're neglected, we learn that the world is unsafe."

She met my gaze. "You don't trust anything you can't see. And I get it. But just because you don't see something doesn't mean it isn't real."

I clenched my jaw. "That's a weak argument."

She smiled. "Is it? Or is it just uncomfortable to consider?"

I hated that she made sense.

This was my first experience when I ran out of opposition to her point.

She wasn't giving me casual remarks without meaning. She was making me think.

And I wasn't sure I liked it.

"Fine," I muttered. "Let's say you're right. Imagine faith was to do with trust. Perhaps someone has been given only reasons not to trust?"

Her expression softened. "Then they have a choice."

It thought, 'To suddenly believe in something they have no reason to believe in?'

"No," she said gently. "Just to give themselves a chance to see something different."

I scoffed. "Sounds like self-delusion."

She shook her head. "No. It's hope."

I stared at her. "Hope is dangerous."

She smiled faintly. "No. Hope is human."

Throughout many years I dedicated myself to understanding any and all human behavior patterns. Through my research I learned how people operate their actions.

But this?

This concept remained past my comprehension.

From my perspective she stayed innocent because she never experienced life differently.

It is now that I realized... that she had chosen it.

Even with the cruel world's brutality and its uncertain nature she decided to put her faith in existence.

My mindset shifted for the very first time when I asked these questions to myself.

Was I the one who was blind?

The question unsettled me.

During multiple years I had no doubt I possessed the correct way to understand the world. I assessed situations with clear reason and refused emotions or desire-based decisions.

Her capacity to test my surety annoyed me deeply.

After our conversation ended at the café I kept thinking about it harder than I disliked our discussion.

As if replaying her words over and over in my head that night, I was lying in bed.

"Hope is human."

His words tasted like poetry yet I wanted proof.

Or was it just another comforting lie people told themselves to survive?

I saw her again outside of the university courtyard on a bench staring up at the sky.

Even then she was always looking at the sky.

As if it knew answers I wasn't privy to.

I muttered to myself as I sat down beside her before doubting myself, "You always do that."

She smiled. "Do what?"

"Look up. Like you're waiting for something."

She chuckled. "Maybe I am."

I scoffed. "The message from God is that you expect God to send you a message?"

"Maybe not a message. But signs, maybe."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's just selective perception."

She turned to me. "Or maybe it's how to look."

I exhaled sharply. "Somehow or the other you manage to twist my words."

She laughed. "No, I just listen."

She turned a conversation to something so much deeper than she had anticipated I hated how easily.

Come to talk and not to question all of my world view again.

She had a way of making me do that, but I can't seem to resist.

Whether I liked it or not.

I let out a slow breath. "Can I ask you something?"

She nodded. "Of course."

"So sure of everything?" I asked. "But have you ever... doubted?"

She didn't look surprised, but her smile faded slightly. In fact, she checked like she'd been waiting to be asked that question.

"Yes," she admitted softly. "Countless times."

I waited to see any trace of hesitation on her expression. "And yet, you still believe?"

She nodded. "Because faith isn't the absence of doubt. It's choosing to believe even when doubt is there."

I frowned. "That doesn't make sense."

She tilted her head. "Doesn't it? You live your life without faith, without belief. But you still live. You wake up every day and go about your life, even though you think there's no meaning. Isn't that the same thing?"

I stiffened.

I didn't like the comparison.

Because maybe—just maybe—she had a point.

She let the silence stretch between us before speaking again.

"I think," she said carefully, "you want to believe in something. You just don't trust yourself enough to do it."

I clenched my jaw. "That's not true."

She smiled softly. "Then why are you here?"

I didn't have an answer.

Or rather, I had one—I just didn't want to admit it.

Because deep down, a part of me was searching for something.

And that terrified me.

I left our conversation feeling unsettled.