Dear Kkhuddoo,

I see you growing each day as a reader, and I can’t tell you how much joy it brings to me when I watch you grow – not only as a human, a woman, a writer, but also as a reader.

Five years ago, when I saw you bringing yourself back to the world of books, it brought me so much joy to learn that my little curious reader was back to the world where she had always belonged – the world of books, the world of words, the world of pages, and the silence buried within everything in between.

Deep down, I was assured that, finally, the time had arrived, and it was the long-awaited moment when you were going to enter the world of books with maturity, understanding, and choice, much in contrast to the day when you were pulled to the world of books by your grandfather, years ago, in your childhood. Years later, you were standing in the same place, but alone. All alone.

You thought everyone was too busy in their own worlds, and thus, you wanted to keep yourself occupied with your favorite friend – books!

You sobbed your tears as you remembered your grandfather. “Dadu! I am alone, I have nobody to guide me in the world of books, nobody to tell me which books I should read, which books will give me joy, and which books will give me peace.”

You remembered your younger self – Kkhuddoo, the little one; and at that moment, that very moment, you heard a call coming from far, like a whisper in your dream, “Kkhuddoo!”

The voice seemed familiar; it was the same as your grandfather used to call you in childhood.

“Kkhuddoo! My little one!”

You felt a gentle touch on your forehead, and you woke up from sleep, sobbing in the midnight hour.

Opening your eyes, you didn’t see anyone, didn’t hear any voice, only the quarrelsome street dogs were fighting over their part of the leftover food, but in the chaos, it seemed like there was another sound, screaming from afar. You felt a presence around, and you knew what those signals were trying to tell you.

That you were walking on the right path.

That you were walking on the prewritten path.

That you were walking on the same path where you had always been walking – sometimes visible, sometimes invisible. Sometimes known, sometimes unknown. Sometimes seen, sometimes unseen.

You had always been there, in the middle of the room full of books, in the middle of a roomful of books. Books that you read, books that you wanted to read, books that you left unread, all of them were waiting for you. To return to your very own place where you were valued the most – in your heart, in your mind, in your soul, in the sacred corner of your homebody where you lived in a blissful union with your favorite books.

Kkhuddoo, you are never alone when you begin walking on a noble path. Maybe you can’t see anyone walking with you, but they never leave you alone either. Perhaps they are walking in parallel paths, in some other timeline, in some other universe.

And the path that leads you to books is always shimmering with the light of words – the light that authors left behind. Sometimes through their written words, sometimes through the untold. Sometimes as an era personified, sometimes as a torchbearer to survive an ingenious language. Sometimes a legacy, sometimes a forgotten art.

But the light remained here forever, to enlighten the path, like the evening star.

And this is why you are brought back to the world of books, so you realize the power, the peace, and the purpose hidden in the world of words. For I know, that someday, the little curious reader will discover herself in the light of the write path by walking on the right path.

Because you are never alone, for you have your own clan of people who dwell in the same love, float in the same meditation, and dance in the same ecstasy – the place where you take refuge and find solace in, an intoxicated sanctuary called Book!

With love,

Your Lost Library

(This post is part of the Bookish League blog hop hosted by Bohemian Bibliophile )