The Library

I walk out of the library looking at the weird ID card picture, the company logo, and the phone number. I should have worn blue that day, I look good in blue. As I walk out of the library I see a beautiful Natarajan idol placed along with the temple. It’s black in color, the same as the cover of the book I have in my hand.

I look at the membership receipt of the library. I am a member for 10 days. I can visit here from 8am to 10pm. I don’t have time to go to the library, I think walking out the gate, and waving at the auto.

“Collective INC. A-1” I say to the driver. He picks me up, and I read the book, it has little prose, verses, stanzas, poetry, and an amazing compilation of beautiful words. I wonder if I can go there daily and spend some time reading stuff. I can make an exception for these 10 days.

I reach the office and I wonder how to thank that lady for returning my ID card. I am as usual busy and I reach home exhausted. I take out my lunch box from the bag and I see the book. The black cover with the beautiful feather. I keep my box aside and I am thinking about the wonderful day. I read the book and for rest of the night, I am reading the pages, beautifully penned stanzas. I keep reading and I am lost inside, the world full of love, warmth, sentiments, this heartfelt innocence.

I am reminded of Sunaina, her sweet voice, her beautiful eyes, and her nosepin. Her recommending me the book. I am halfway through and I sleep with it that night. I wake up with the book over me, I keep it aside. I look at my phone and its 7:30am. If I get ready, I can spend the mornings there. I get ready, I wear my blue shirt and I consume time getting ready. I reach the library, and as soon as I enter I search for Sunaina. I see the reading room, the library, but no one is there.

The library is quite big and spacious, with books arranged meticulously. I look at the different sections and I move towards the Non-fiction, I see all the famous authors. The books I always wanted to read, but couldn’t find time to.

“Done with the book already?” I hear her sweet voice. She is looking so pretty today. I look at her kohl eyes, through her golden rimmed round glasses, her tied up hair.

“Almost,” I say looking at her nosepin

“Did you like it?” She asks me, being inquisitive.

“Yes, I can really feel the author.” I look at the book trying to recall the author name S K Gujral.

I see her eyes lit up. I spend an hour in the library, she told me about the books she would recommend me to read. I walk out of the library, happy. I read a few more pages in the auto ride to the office. My day ends well. I am out of the office and it’s 7pm. I make one more visit to the library before going home, thinking about the words of the poetry I read.

I reach the library, I walk inside, the AC is full and I see people studying, I tiptoe my way to the other end of the library. Trying to find the known face, I look for Sunaina. I can’t find her anywhere. I sit there, reading the book, I read, and I have fallen in love with the way the words are written, they have their own world, making me feel connected, to all the emotions I see but can’t express. I keep reading and I read the deep words. Someone tied and lost in the imaginary memory, unable to perceive anything.

At the end of the book and I look at the last page, I read about S K Gujral. There is nothing much mentioned in the book. I leave the book and I try finding other books by the author, I can’t find any. I look at my watch and I look for Sunaina again. My eyes moving over to every person present and I find the lady sitting over to the corner table of the library.

I walk up to her. She recognizes me, I greet her quietly and she acknowledges. I say thanks for returning my ID card. I talk to her and she is a teacher. I keep the professionalism on, she might not think I am a stalker and move away.

I return home and I finish the book. I google about the author and there is no online presence. The author is a ghost. I wonder who wrote this book and is lost in oblivion. Why did Sunaina give me this book? I am feeling attached and I wonder if there was something more. If she was also associated with it, just like I am.

I sleep and I think of meeting her tomorrow and return the book.

For the next few days I visit the library in the morning and in the evening I can’t find her. I wake up every day in hope of meeting her but she is nowhere. I don’t see the lady too, I wonder if they are the 10-day member just like me or are they privileged to be there. I read the books Sunaina recommended to me.

I miss her, I look for her and I get a bit sad when I don’t find her. My membership is about to expire tomorrow and I want to ask the librarian about Sunaina. He looks at me, as I return the last book I have read upon her recommendation. I wonder if it’s okay to ask about her, but I don’t.

I remember her face, lying in my bed, thinking about her. How did I meet her, what a funny story? Hadn’t I took the lady for the ride, I would have not met her. Had there been no meeting, had my phone been on, I would have taken the ID card from someone else.

I wish I can meet her again, and tell her about the books I have read, I want to talk about the poetry book with her. I sleep hopeful, I might find her tomorrow.

I walk inside, trying to keep my heart, looking for her, praying, please meet me, please find me, please be here. I go over everywhere, You are nowhere, I find the book again and I reread a few of my favorites. I am reading and I hear your sweet voice and my heart skips a beat.

“Still hooked up?” She speaks to me, looking at me.

“Yeah, Where have you been?” I ask her happily, trying to hide how much I have missed her presence and she grabs a chair and sits opposite me.

“Just making a living.” and she laughs, I laugh with her.

“You know this author is awesome but a ghost. I can’t find anything about the book or whoever wrote it. I really like this poem, it looks so profound and all of the prose wants to portray something so deep like I feel so attached, do you also feel the same and so you asked me to read it.” I look at her trying to ask like I would lose her in the thin air, I want to make most of the time we have here, I may find you or not, I wonder if this is it. Am I seeing you here for the last time?

I look at you, your eyes, your deep eyes through your glasses. I wonder if I can look at them, all bare. Your eyes are smiling.

“The ghost is me, I am the author of the book” You say looking at me.

I look at you in disbelief. S K Gujral… Sunaina K Gujral. Really!? That can’t be happening! How is this possible. I make a don’t joke with me face. She is joking with me. I am convinced and all I manage to speak closing the book at your little joke is “No way.” You laugh and your dimple shows.

I am confused what is it, are you or are you not?

You grab your library card and I see your name Sunaina K Gujral. So all this time I was reading your heart, your love, your compassion, your soul, and I basically fell in love with you? I am speechless for a moment.

You continue the conversation and you tell me everything about the time when you wrote that poem, your feelings, how intensely you felt about it. I sit there feeling mixed sentiments, a stupid fan sitting and talking to an author. I just wanted to befriend you and instead ..! you seem way beyond my reach

You look at my card and the books I have read in the last 10 days. All your favorites. I just sit there holding my hands, speaking nothing, nodding at everything you say.

“Let’s go for the coffee,” She says looking at me,

I look at her and say,“Coffee with a fan!” and she chuckles. I smile and we walk out the library.

“I hope you remember your fan’s name” I speak looking at the sunfilled morning blue sky with the feathery white clouds.

“Mr. Anugrah, yes I do” My eyes sparkle up. I wave at the auto and If only I knew, I am going to marry this woman a few years down the line, if I knew that day going worse, that it’s all fate, me riding along with the lady, being late to the meeting, losing my id card, I am going to meet the love of my life, had I not stopped the auto, had I not asked the lady, had I not done everything that I did, had I not missed my interoffice cab ride, where would I be? Had I met her?

I still wonder to this day! She is busy writing something and I am looking at her, I couldn’t have been luckier. Always trust the timing of everything that happens, they happen for a reason. I walk up to her and I hug her from the back, looking at her next unpublished book

“The Library”

Author: Onesha

She is the funny one! Has flair for drama, loves to write when happy! You might hate her first story, but maybe you’ll like the next. She is the master of words, but believes actions speak louder than words. 1sha Rastogi, founder of

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