She sat there, in the dusty corner of the bookstore, alone and unwanted.
‘I don’t belong here,’ she thought, ‘Isn’t there anyone who wants to know what I hold within?’
Day after day, month after month, year after year, dust covered her yellow corners.
A wrinkled, soft hand broke her trance on a pleasant sunny Monday. A pair of wise and shining eyes looked down at her genially through a pair of wine bordered spectacles. He turned her over, read through her back and smiled.
She felt hopeful as Grandpa cleaned the dust off her.
Having been placed into his cloth bag that jerked as the rickshaw moved, she wondered where she was headed to.
Grandpa walked through his gate, took her out and told Grandma, “Here, hold my bag. I’ll be back.”
She took a peek at Grandma, who was smiling and nodding knowingly.
‘So this is not the place’, she realized, as Grandpa brought her out of his bag, held her carefully within his fingers, and slowly walked out of the gate. The road got rocky and uneven, and as he passed under an arc formed by two thick, beautifully flowered trees, a small hut came into view.
“Is she here?” he asked a woman, who was making rotis in the open yard.
She nodded and smiled briefly.
Grandpa walked over to the backyard, and she saw it –
Curly black hair playing around in the wind; her bronze skin covered by a worn out white frock, sitting on the sand and drawing, was a little girl.
Grandpa and the gift peered from behind the little girl to find her drawing a book in the sand.
Grandpa slowly took the gift and gently placed it on the drawing, its yellow standing out like the Sun.
As the girl took the old, yellow book in her hands and looked up at Grandpa, her face shone like the beautiful evening Sun.
The little girl smiled as Grandpa patted her head and said, “Never stop dreaming.”
And as he turned around and slowly walked away, the book whispered, “Thank you.” for she had found her home, and so had someone else.
By Devika V
(Edited by Soumya Chakraborty)
Image Source: pixabay.com