You notice the dust on the book.
You want her to read, but she doesn't.
Maybe you should say aloud the chapters that the book holds.
You tell her and she listens. She always does, but you know you can barely give her what the book can give, you can do no justice to its words.
You leave everyday with an expectant glance at the top shelf only to be disheartened to find the book covered in even more layers of dust.
She notices your disappointment, but she lets it go.
You stop coming to her eventually. Stop telling her about the book as you can do nothing more.
Maybe you were wrong. Maybe she hadn't let go off the disappointment.
You see as soon as you stop telling her the contents, she wants to read the book's core.
The dust spreads. The pages squeak. She lets out a shaky breath. After all the best book is in her hand.
She was just so scared to read it, but how can she die without knowing the best?
You can do this she tells herself as she begins to read:
"Bismillah arrahman nirrahim"
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5:12am29/05/18
THE END
