Grandma, What’s Your Favourite Book? (Short Story)

Hi Readers! How are you all doing? The last short story I wrote was 3 years ago, so I felt that it was about time I write something apart from book reviews. So, here I am, with a new short story! Hope you like it. You can read the rest of my short stories here and diary logs here!

“Grandma, wake up! Lunch is ready.” The granddaughter walked into her favourite human being’s room. Her grandma was sitting in her rocking chair by the window. Specs on her eyes, always halfway on the bridge of the nose. Wind rushing in to keep her pleasantly chilly. Her withered old hands on a book way too heavy for her to hold. A hint of a smile on her adorable face. And finally, her eyes closed peacefully as if she was in her lover’s arms. She gazed at her grandma with all the love in the world.

She had grown up with her grandma’s stable presence in her life. Her grandma taught her how to learn a hobby and more importantly, how to stick with your hobby throughout your life. She taught her the power of Selah, which is a pause to think before offering any extreme reaction. She taught her to ‘feel all the feels’, as she always put it. Love. Happiness. Sorrow. Dilemmas. Nostalgia. Regrets. Gratitude. Loss. Feel all the feels!

She went to the rocking chair to wake up her grandma. Grandma opened her eyes, looked out the window and smiled, looked at the book in her hands and gave a quizzingly confused but happy reaction. And, then she asked, “Who are you?” Every time that happened, a little part in the granddaughter broke. She asked her grandma if she was hungry, and she just nodded. They walked out into the dining room and within a matter of minutes, grandma was grandma again. She randomly started to talk about a book she had read years ago, which touched her heart, but she couldn’t remember the name of the book or the author or the characters. Eventually she realised she didn’t even really remember the story. She was at a loss of memory and loss of words, and then she suddenly went silent. Another part of her granddaughter broke. But granddaughter did not lose heart and considering their mutual love for books, she told her grandma about the book she read which she loved. She talked about how she loved that the protagonist was a scandalous woman who had big Hollywood dreams, how she married seven men in her lifetime and then at the end of her old age came out as a lesbian. Granddaughter kept talking about the brilliance & grasp the story had. But, at the same time, slowly grandma drifted to another world of thought again, where she wasn’t really her grandma anymore. Yet again, a little part of the granddaughter broke.

Even though grandma had disappeared from conversation, she was in another conversation with nostalgia. Grandma remembered a time she used to talk about books like her granddaughter did now. She remembered how she used to devour one book a day and sometimes read 30+ books in one month. She had unachievable targets set for herself each year to read books; as per genre, as per rating, as per publication date, as per authors’ diversity & so much more. She remembered sharing book memes all the time, which no one else could relate to. She remembered buying too many books than she could ever read. But, then, that was all that she remembered. She knew she had a separate mini library with her favourite books. But, every time she looked at them, it could be anyone’s other library at all. All her favourite novels which she collected and carried through her life, were just pages upon pages stacked up. She couldn’t differentiate one from the next. She couldn’t remember how she felt when she read these favourite books. She couldn’t remember who her favourite authors were. She couldn’t remember if there were more books, which maybe someone else had borrowed.

After lunch she again went to her rocking chair, picked up the book she was reading. She opened the bookmarked page to continue reading. But, nothing made sense to her. Who were these characters? What was happening? Did she really read all those 230 pages until she reached this point? Did she bookmark the page right? She had no clue. Her memory had robbed her of her favourite hobby. She would never feel the same pain she once felt when she read about Jude in A Little Life. She will never feel the same hope she once felt when she read about Billy Dunne in Daisy Jones & The Six. She will never feel the same despair she once felt when she read about Elsa in The Four Winds. She will never quite remember the plot twists of her favourite thrillers, not even if she re-read them. She will never quite remember the sad or happy endings of love stories, not even if she re-read them.

This impending doom of realization hit her and once again she felt all the feels but not because she was reading a book. It was because she could never read a book. The tears did not stop. She cradled the book she was reading earlier and like so many times before, she cried herself to sleep with a book in her hand. For the first time she hoped that she will forget this feeling as well.

Until next time,