It was Covid times; I was home. In those days, I had a lot of time to explore my space. While doing so, I just went through my cupboard. And as I opened it, I could not shut that down.
There I found a box that was filled with books and copies of old articles, which I just loosely tucked in a file. As I saw them, I could not take my eyes off them. It just reminded me of some moments when I used to read articles and keep their copies in a file.
The way it all came
across my mind, I could not keep them out of my sight. That’s how my love for
reading books came to light.
In no time I began seeing myself immersed in their stories, characters, and emotions. It was because their lives felt like mine. Sometimes, it felt hard—especially when their stories brought tears to my eyes. Their pain felt like mine.
That’s why, even at the end of the stories, it took
me days to say goodbye.
Since then, I have not kept count of how many books I have read, how many people I have met through their stories, and which emotions I have yet to touch. For me, books are my true companions—they never tell a lie to me.
When I felt upset, they came to say "Hi"🙋♀️. I always felt like they spoke to me in many different ways.
Whenever I got stuck in my own thoughts, books
opened up my mind. Each time, they brought something new that I had never found.
That’s the reason I could not leave them behind.
Every time I come across a new book, I cannot
justify which book is mine.
Just the way the love of books found me in quiet,
maybe my words will find someone in the same way.
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