A Day At the Library
“Are you an art student?” I asked him. He looked up and smiled at me. Charming, with his dark rimmed glasses and dimples.
We were in the dark and dusty university library. He sat on the floor, Indian style, reading “The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh”.
“Creative Writing, actually. Are you?”
“Yeah.” I extended my hand and told him my name.
Months later, he has used my name hundreds of times. In love letters. poems, stories and even in bed. Like he can’t stop saying it and my name is an addictive drug he needed to have on a daily basis. We were so in love that we planned our future after graduation. He will work on his first novel and I will do gallery exhibits. We will save our money and visit libraries and galleries all over the world. It was a match made in some heaven for artists.
“Falling out of love is not an option, ok?” He would remind me everyday. But I did fall out love. He was getting too intense for me. A year with him felt like a century. We broke up months after we graduated.
I haven’t heard from him for years until I heard about the release of his book. Apparently, it was a bestseller and he was doing tours. Critics claim it was the love story of the year. I went to one book shop where he will be reading and signing copies. I did not plan on going up to him. I just wanted to see him. He went up to the podium and said he will read the first part. Everybody was so giddy and excited.
He leafed through the first page gently and read the first line, “Are you an art student?”.