Oneshots- S3 (Completed)

67| Found Ourselves

The city library was a haven for Abhyudaya. He loved the quiet, the smell of old books and the peaceful solitude that allowed him to escape into different worlds.

A shy librarian with a penchant for history and classic literature, he found comfort in the company of dusty tomes and forgotten manuscripts.

The shelves of the library were his companions, each book with a new story waiting to be discovered.

One late afternoon, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting golden light through the tall windows, Abhyudaya was sorting through a collection of old, rare books that had recently been donated.

His hand hovered over a particularly worn-out volume with a faded leather cover. The title, "The Garden of Words," was barely legible, the gold lettering worn thin from years of handling.

Intrigued, Abhyudaya carefully opened the book. As he flipped through the brittle pages, he noticed something unusual-tiny, delicate writing in the margins. He squinted, bringing the book closer to his face to read the faint ink.

"I saw him again today. The way he looks at the world, as if he is lost in a dream...it makes my heart ache. How can someone be so oblivious to the beauty he carries within?"

Abhyudaya's heart skipped a beat. This was no ordinary annotation. It was a love note, written with such emotion that he could almost feel the writer's longing for the one she had wrote this book. He turned the page, eager to find more and he was not left disappointed.

"He always comes in at the same time, orders the same drink. I wonder if he ever notices me. If only I could find the courage to speak to him..."

The notes continued sporadically throughout the book, each one revealing a little more of the writer's feelings, her unspoken desires and the growing affection she felt for the mysterious man she wrote about.

The handwriting was elegant, the tone wistful yet hopeful and Abhyudaya found himself deeply moved by the words.

Who was this woman? And who was the man she wrote about? Abhyudaya was captivated, not just by the notes but by the mystery behind them. He had to know more.

The next day, Abhyudaya could not get the love notes out of his mind. He found himself returning to "The Garden of Words" again and again, re-reading the passages, searching for any clues about the identity of the writer. But the book offered no answers except more questions.

As he was about to close the library for the evening, Abhyudaya noticed a small card tucked between the pages near the end of the book.

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled it out. It was an old, faded library card, the kind used decades ago before digital systems took over. The name written in delicate script at the top was "Gautami."

The name sent a jolt of recognition through Abhyudaya. He knew a Gautami. She worked at a nearby coffee shop he occasionally visited-a quiet, unassuming place where he would sometimes escape for a few hours of reading away from the library.

Could it be the same Gautami? The idea seemed far-fetched, yet the coincidence was too striking to ignore.

The next morning, Abhyudaya made his way to the coffee shop, the book carefully tucked under his arm.

The familiar chime of the doorbell greeted him as he entered, the rich aroma of coffee wafting through the air.

He spotted Gautami behind the counter, her curly hair left open coming infront of her face and her eyes focused on the steaming cup of coffee she was preparing for a customer.

Gautami was an aspiring author, he remembered. They had exchanged a few words here and there, mostly pleasantries about the weather or the latest book she was reading. She was kind and soft-spoken, much like the woman he imagined writing those notes.