Pages of us

It was a usual introduction to the day - that no one really reads, like a preface of a book with no illustrations. So I skipped to my favourite chapter where the sky is painted beautifully in a majestic blend of orange and blue, the huge ball of fire sinking into the horizon and two strokes of black paint forming what they call birds.

After all, I like my story to be full of beautiful pictures.

But the scene had something unusual today - it was silent, not empty, not calm but silent, that unsettling silence that hints at the upcoming storm.

Little did I know that turning the page would bring a storm of questions—ones I had never dared to ask before. Why is there so much silence even with so many stories existing out there ? These stories have the power to change the world but what’s going on? Are all of them too busy decorating themselves, that they forgot that it’s the content that matters, not the cover? With so many stories existing out there, how is each story revolving solely around itself? If there are stories just perfect for the others, why do they have to be disgraced and misunderstood by the wrong ones? Why do the right readers always arrive late? Why are some stories having chapters that others can only dream of? Why are some stories about love, care and support while others are left lonely and forgotten?

Overwhelmed, I wanted to skip this part too but I guess that’s not always an option, sometimes we have to read some chapters to understand and value the upcoming ones. Also from the previously read lessons I know that unanswered questions hurt the most.

Reading ahead in the search for answers I encountered a new character, crafted beautifully by the author so beautifully that I forgot I was looking for some answers in this chapter and by beautiful I didn’t mean the cover but the content. I loved how he was decorating others' lives and not just his. The only thought at the moment was that I want to read him, understand him. I wanted our stories to be bound in one single book forever for every edition that followed. I wanted him to be the theme of my story. Maybe our stories are not just revolving around us, maybe there are people who we want to include in our stories not for moments but for the whole story. Maybe there are stories that don’t need an attractive cover, their content is beautiful enough.

Curious to know more, I kept reading. He was a story easy to read but one that needed time to be understood. Like me, he had some questions too, but unlike me, he was not desperate for the answers, he never tried to skip chapters, he let his story unfold at its own pace. For his story he was the main character, enjoying the journey instead of rushing to know himself completely. To him he was still a question half answered but for me he was the answer of all the questions I ever had.

Maybe some stories are meant just for us, but they unfold at their own perfect time—so magically that it feels unreal to even exist. Maybe some chapters in our story aren’t just chapters; they are lessons we need to learn. Maybe sometimes we need to read others to know who we are. Maybe if we find the right ones in the beginning, some questions will never be asked. Maybe if we know the story beforehand, the curiosity to read further will fade. Maybe if every story had everything the reader wanted, it wouldn’t be unique. And maybe, some stories aren’t meant to have a happy ending—but a truly beautiful journey. In the narrative of life, many stories and characters enter our lives—some just passing through, some becoming chapters, and a rare few becoming the very essence of who we are.

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