The favourite book....

“You are my favourite book,” she had declared to him that morning. The evening before, he'd travelled all the way to another state just to see her. On a bike, riding for nine hours. It felt like a story to her, no not the fairy tales which were just gruesome tales wrapped in glittery paper. 

 This felt like a real story, one she was a part of. One she knew she could write the lines of. One she not just read, but was a character in.

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“I have never had a favourite book - there have been books I like, books I read many times. But never a favourite book,” she explained.

It was true. She loved books, read them while eating, walking on the road, hanging by the train, standing in the crowded bus, during lectures, sitting at train stations. You get the point. She loved reading books. People always asked her about her favourite book or author. And when she dint know they gave her “what!” stares. And when she told them she dint know why, they believed she dint read at all. But now she had an answer.

"You are my favourite book coz everyday with you is a story. You are like the book I would love to keep reading. Carry it with me every day. I would quote from you. Tell people stories about you, narrated by you. Every chapter will be interesting I am sure,” she could go on...but she stopped.

She suddenly realised she sounded like a Mills and Boon book, the ones she hated. So she stopped talking. She saw that he hadn’t said a word all this while. All the thoughts she knew shouldn’t think, she sat and thought. And waited for him to say something.

“Will you share your favourite book with others?” was all he asked with a mischievous smile.