Some books are not just confined to our shelves.
Instead, they are part of the letters unsent,
the conversations that keep coming back.
Sometimes, to read a book is to write to that someone
whom I am so desperately longing to meet again –
that someone who can make me laugh out loud
as if every single laugh mark was written on the page
that tells the story of how we ate pizza together
and laughed in between those laughs while talking.
To reread the book is like writing a love letter to my memories –
the one I have of myself when I first marked those lines
and took pause at that passage whispering “this is us.”
Books love us back sometimes –
silently, with words, patiently waiting for us to come back
months and years after we have forgotten about them.
किताबें भी मोहब्बत करती हैं —
हर पन्ना एक ख़त है, हर शब्द एक इज़हार।
Books love us too – every page is a letter, every word a confession.
To the ones that made an imprint in us,
to the ones that hold our handprints in their pages
with memories that will never be erased.
This Post is part of BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026
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Amanyas Creative World 