A story in English
Have you ever been in love with a character from a book? I have. So much that I didn’t hesitate when she told me to do something, even though my intuition told me I shouldn’t.
The rain is pouring outside making a cozy background noise to the story. I’m in my favourite spot in my room. I inhale the deep smell of my freshly made coffee, take a sip and savour the bitter aroma hitting my taste buds. Wriggle my butt a little extra into the armchair and turn the page.
With quick muffled steps she climbs the stairs. The last step gives a terrible squeaking noise, making her crouch down, twitching her face, biting her lip and listen. Nothing happens.
In front of her is a long corridor. Ancient chandeliers with globes enclosing candles, cast a flickering light upon high book shelves on either sides.
A red light is shining from a room behind an almost closed door in the other end of the corridor. She sneaks ahead without a sound.
Just before she reaches the door, she turns around and points right at me. Her blue eyes shine and her red lips glow as she crooks her finger beckoning me to come.
My jaw drops and I slam the book closed. What was that? My eyes are flickering from left to right. The wind outside slams the rain against the window, sending chills down my spine. With wide open eyes I stare at the book in my hands. I must be dreaming.
I open the book slowly, scroll a few pages.
“Meet me in the library in half an hour.”
The words are written in a blank page in pretty cursive. I flip to the previous page.
With quick muffled steps she climbs …
The section I read before she turned. And pointed at me? I scroll forward. The rest of the book is filled with blank pages. I shake my head. No way! This is not happening.
The doors to the library slams behind me, sending echoes through the old house. I picture doves tumbling from their post at the crossbeam, but I hear no sound of fluttering wings. The building is quiet as in the dead of the night.
“Hallo?” My voice shakes a bit. Why am I so god-damn curious. Why didn’t I just stay in bed? It was just words in a book. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. The same words were written on the mirror. With lipstick. And the same pretty cursive.
It’s like a blind date. I only really have the description of the girl I’m meeting. I never saw her for real.
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