The pages of our love.

1.

“Hey, take this.” The guy in the horn-rimmed spectacles tells Louis as he is about to leave the library. It’s raining outside. There are very few people inside and there are at least 3 books in his arms. The pamphlet is glossy paper and colourized words and pictures.

Louis thanks the guy and nods before he steps out, umbrella at the ready. He pulls the books to his chest, fixes his glasses and then tentatively takes a step forward. The first drops of the rain drizzle over his umbrella; the thumping rhythm makes a smile on his face. He always loved the rain; fortunately he wasn’t in a sullen mood like most Britons. He walks down the steps of the majestic Library and then takes a prompt left that led to his favourite tea-shop. It was owned by an old lady and her grandson, an Irish duo from Mullingar.

The bell on the inside of the door at the ‘Tea-rex’, a clever pun from the one and only Niall Horan, rang and he is greeted by the warm waft of fresh tea and hot baked goods. It smells super good inside and his stomach grumbles in approval. He immediately abandons his books and umbrella on a table nearby and makes his way towards the glass showcase. He sees Niall manning the cashbox and greets him with a quiet smile and “Hi, Blondie.”

He is immediately replied with loads of enthusiasm and a toothy grin, and a long rant-like explanation about something Grandma Horan did in the kitchen that turned out quite nice.

“And it’s like muffins but with vanilla, strawberry, marshmallows and whipped cream. I bet you will like it! I will get you one and a large Yorkie. Go have a seat.” Niall says as he takes the money Louis hands him with a grin.

“Thank you, Ni!” Louis grinned as he went back to his seat by the window.

The cafe itself was very homely, with large windows and couches for seats, with coat racks and umbrella stands. The interior was all glass and mahogany. The kitchen was visible from the regular seat Louis took. He indulged in the obsession of watching the outside world unperturbed quite often when he found himself sitting at this exact spot and looking out the window.

He looked at people and saw stories. He saw faces, and he saw souls. He saw a person and he saw multiple lives. He lived a life inside his brain always wanting to make the life of an unknown man within. He saw the world through a different eye. He had questions like why did the stars shine and why do we see colours? Why do birds fly and why do fish swim? Why do we fall in love and how do we fall in love? And he wanted answers that weren’t already given. He lived inside the world of books and wandered through the minds of many.

Niall brought him his tea and the muffin and he listens to him talk about a new painter in town who had taken a fancy to the town’s picturesque Library. He listened as Niall told him about how he was going to buy one of the paintings. And he often indulges Niall with a few hums and yeses. As Niall leaves him be, his eye falls upon the pamphlet he was handed at the library and reads it.

“ THE ENGLISH LITERARY AND BOOK SOCIETY OF BRITAIN

READ! READ! READ!

TAKE ONE, LEAVE ONE!

FOR THE FIRST TIME WE ANNOUNCE THAT PATRONS NOW CAN LEAVE A BOOK AT THE LIBRARY FOR ANOTHER PATRON TO TAKE UP.

STARTING NEXT FRIDAY, 02/03/2018 AT NOON SHARP.

WE INVITE ALL OUR MEMBERS TO ASSEMBLE AT THE LIBRARY PREMISES TO INAUGURATE THIS MOVEMENT OF FRIENDSHIP.

BRING A BOOK AND A MATE.”

It seemed like such a great idea to Louis. He sipped the remaining of his tea and switched on his phone to see what the date was. Realizing that it was the 28th of February, he feels excited. It was only two days before he could leave one for someone to take. He wanted to get to know people by the choice of book they left behind. Obviously, he would not actually come to know what their motive was.

To Louis the entire ordeal was surreal, because books are a very personal thing. One doesn’t just read a book; they lose a part of their soul to it, even if it’s minute. And it matters to Louis.

Louis goes home running that day and  finds himself on his knees in front of his bed around which he had stacks of books, some stacked, some strewn about. He picks up one of his old copies of Charles Dickens Classics. He had stacked them up together and they lined held ‘A Christmas Carol’, ‘Great Expectations’, ‘The Tale Of Two Cities’, ‘Oliver Twist’, and his collection of Short Stories and much more. On its right was another stack of works by Oscar Wilde, but most importantly, it held fifteen different copies of the same book, ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’. He also had an entire bunch of works from Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte and Emily Bronte. He also had copies of books written by Lewis Carroll and Robert Louis Stevenson. Even then, he occasionally went to the library to read books that he didn’t want to purchase. Like he went and read a copy of Gandhi, from the library but never bought it. He often went and read things written by Stephen King and autobiographies of certain personalities. But he never bothered to buy them. He loved classics and other things as of that era, but he occasionally found himself reading stuff from recent writers.

He ended up on his back heaving after becoming overwhelmed with the thought that he would have to part with one of his books. He gave up his search for a book after a few hours and decided to instead read a nice old book by Agatha Christie and warm his feet by the fireplace. He made himself some tea and dragged his feet towards the fireplace, his heavy duvet following his feet. There was a copy of ‘Cards on the Table’ in his hands. There was soft music playing in the background and the fire crackled in front of him. The rain fell in soft patters across his window pane.

~~~~~~