"I don't usually read a novel, but when I do, I end up writing one too!"
- Prafulla
I strolled past the bookshelves, lazily, trying to find something new, something that would perhaps refresh my mind. It has been almost three years since I last visited this place. More than a bookstore, this used to serve as our favorite hangout spot after college. Not that we were too much into novels and stuff, but there is something about the Oxford Bookstore that kept us coming back every time – something that I have come looking for today. All this time since we parted ways, I have spent avoiding every such place that has memories associated, beautiful memories of our love. Of course, once the petals are gone, all that is left are the thorns; the memories bring back nothing but agony.
Today, however, as I was walking past the bookstore, I felt something of the sort I used to feel back then, an inexplicable attraction that slowly turned into an irresistible urge to step into the store. For a moment, it felt just like it those good old days. Promptly, my hand slipped into my pocket and I took a quick glance at my cellphone.
Saturday, 17th December
6:45 PM
I hurriedly made my way through the passages towards the cafĂ© on the first floor. The smell of the freshly brewing coffee seemed calling out to me. As I began climbing the stairs, my eyes fell upon the table on the corner, where I had spent countless evenings with Rutika – talking, laughing and creating memories all along. It was our spot; even the waiters knew it. We would always find it vacant, even if we got late.
Not anymore. The place looked the same as it was; just the faces occupying it were new. The realization came like a blow.
No, nobody is going to come today. No unread messages in the inbox. I am, but, all by myself…