This OS is copied from 'Eloquently' with names changed and originally written by Suppy. The permission to post this OS on the forum has been given by the author.
This is an AU. I was at a library yesterday and my mind was like why not a RaghVi romance there.😆
"It's a god-awful sight." Pallavi said, running her fingers delicately along the worn and weathered spines as she walked.
"No one reads books anymore."
Pallavi along with her parents ran a small bookstore as a side business, the building was nothing fancy, nothing large; located on the corner spot of a bustling city street. It wasn't the prettiest and most modern place to be, like the private library; there were no barcodes, no solid-colored chairs, and crisp white furniture.
"No one reads books anymore..." Pallavi's voice took a softer tone.
This place seemed aged and musky. Furniture was mismatched and the books that lined every inch of wall and floor made the store feel too cramped. Lighting was dim, her parents had invested their money only in incandescents. It was completely unethical, but they said that fluorescents ruined the mood of the reader. They hung down from the ceiling, a detail people might find as stylish, but it was simply for practical reasons. It was easier to reach them if they were lower. On clear days, she often relied on the sunlight streaming through the windows.
"Just the thought saddens my heart."
Regardless of the bad light and feeling of claustrophobia, Pallavi has always enjoyed this place. She found comfort in the yellowed pages and faded covers around her. During summers she'd sit on the floor with a fan beside her, reading through pages of Charles Dickens and Jane Austen. In the winter she'd fix herself a large cup of coffee in the back room and curl up in one of the armchairs, engrossed in Ernest Hemingway and Victor Hugo. And on rainy nights like tonight, she'd wanted to fall asleep to the sound of her aai's voice reading Aesop's Fables.
"They prefer to read stories of fifteen year old girls in high school romances." Pallavi pursed her lips in disapproval and leaned against the register counter.
"Or even so, stories like that are often written by fifteen year old girls. Stories about boys, various boys falling in love with a single female lead and her falling in love with the arrogant and handsome athlete simply for the fact he toys with her emotions and has a great outward appearance."
She lightly crossed her arms and stared pensively at the wooden floor.
"It really is a god-awful sight, Pallavi." Pallavi said her voice resounding in the empty bookstore.
"How would you fall in love with a guy then?"
A voice said startling Pallavi as she jumped from the counter, standing straight with her muscles tensed. She had thought she was here all alone, and felt herself blush at the thought of someone hearing every word she had said.
A man with wet black hair matted against his face and a damp jacket walked out from one of the higher bookshelves. His charcoal black eyes looked at her in apology and then looked at the floor. Looking back into Pallavi's eyes again he said "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to get out of the rain and—"
"—Do you want a towel?" Pallavi's offer cut him off as she couldn't stand the stranger blabbing. As his head rose, she watched a droplet of water glide down his cheek and against his perfect jawline before falling onto the floor. She had never seen someone so attractive stand in the store before.
"If you wouldn't mind, that would be nice—" the stranger said politely before he was again cut off by Pallavi.
"—Take your jacket off, too. I'll hang it up by the heater in the back."
He quickly unzipped his jacket, revealing a simple white long-sleeved shirt. He handed it to her as she made her way to the back room, returning with a towel. Tossing it to him he grasped it in a swift motion. Raising an eyebrow at him, she decided not to ask about it. He quickly rubbed it against his head and then held it out to her. His hair was going every which way, but it was hardly near the point of being considered dry. She kept her eyebrow raised.
"Really?"
"What?" He stared at her entirely confused. Letting out a sigh, Pallavi took the towel in her hands.
"Sit." Pallavi ordered pointing to the dark blue arm chair placed in the corner of the store. He stared at her, so she said it again "Sit."
He quickly made his way over to the chair and sat down. Making my way behind him, he looked up at Pallavi quizzically, but she lightly pushed his head back down and faced it forward.
"If you don't dry your hair properly you're going to catch a cold." Pallavi said softly. She began drying his hair for him, rubbing the towel against his damp, black locks. At times, her fingers would brush in between them and found his hair to be incredibly soft. His shoulders drooped in relaxation. After some time, he tilted his head slightly upwards in Pallavi's direction.
"Do you always dry the hair of your customers?" His voice was soft and his words were warm. Pallavi liked the sound of them and noticed that the tips of his ears were warm, as she felt herself smile.
"Do you always go into the rain without an umbrella?" Pallavi retorted as his ears got redder. His flustering and embarrassment was rather adorable. His reaction was refreshing, like opening the pages of a new book. He got quiet and he relaxed once more into her touch.
"I was wondering if you had a book I was looking for." His voice was in a whisper.
"What book?"
"The Picture of Dorian Gray."
"Ah, that's one of my favorites." Pallavi said, smiling at the memory of reading it for the first time "I'll find it for you."
Pallavi removed the towel from his hair and draped it over the arm of the chair and turned towards the books that were shelved near the upper-balcony area. The stranger rose from the seat and quietly followed me. With every step up, the stairs creaked and Pallavi ran her fingers against the spines that lined the wall opposite of the railing. The smell of old paper and ink was always stronger up here, she always found it to be a welcoming scent that enveloped her like a warm blanket. Most of the popular classic literature was shelved up here as she had herself spent countless nights curled up with many of these books. It was a perfect place to read because you couldn't see much of the space from the main floor.
"You never answered my question." the stranger said from behind me.
"Which question was that?" Pallavi asked him as we came to the stop of the staircase. She turned a corner and slowly started scanning titles and authors.
"The question from before... how would you fall in love with a guy?" Pallavi blushed at the memory of him interrupting what she had thought was a discussion with herself. She focused her sight on the books in front of her. Silence settled itself between them as he waited for her answer. She stopped as her hand rested on a copy of Catcher in the Rye.
"If I fall in love with a guy... I think it'll be his words." Her voice was much quieter than she expected it to be. In truth, she had never truly fallen in love with someone. She had stared enviously at her friends who were happily married with kids, but never had she really experienced what it was like to love someone in their entirety.
"It'll be the words he says, the way he says them..." Pallavi continued as she slowly moved her eyes towards a section of Shakespeare.
"It'll be how he eloquently stitches them together. It's words above anything else." Pallavi added moving her fingers across the spines of works by Tolkien.
"Yes." She whispered more to herself than to him "if I fall in love, it's surely for his words."
She found herself looking down at the wood beneath her feet. She thought of the countless Disney movies she had watched as a child, the fairytale books she had read under her blanket by flashlight, and the romantic moments my friends shared with their own partners.
"Or even if he was at a loss for words. The way they don't know what to say... it's so cute and life-affirming..." Pallavi's heart started to throb gently. Thinking about this hurt her chest. She was so envious of all of them, the way they had someone to hold, someone to call their own. Meanwhile she was cooped up surrounded by fantasies written simply in ink on paper. She was surrounded by fiction because she had no power to make it reality. She wasn't the girl people wanted in reality.
"Because of all the phrases in every language there's no just comparison they can find to their feelings towards you." She looked back up and her eyes caught the work of Oscar Wilde.
"Yes, if I were to fall in love, I think it'll be his words." Pallavi concluded and pulled the book off the shelf and turned to him with it in her hands.
The way his gaze fell on Pallavi was something she had never experienced before. His charcoal eyes were glowing softly and his lips were tipped upward in the shadow of a smile. He looked awestruck and entranced. Pallavi's cheeks grew warm under his sight; she glanced away.
"That was beautiful." the stranger murmured "And the most poetic explanation I've ever heard."
Pallavi's face grew warmer. "Here, I'll check this out for you." Pallavi said as she moved past him.
As she did, their shoulders brushed and she felt a warmth seep it's way into her and spread through the rest of her body. She had never felt something like this before. Stopping in her tracks, she looked back at him from the top of the stairs. He was gazing at her with the same surprise she was looking back at him. There was a rosy pink dusted across his cheeks. Breaking her gaze away, she returned down to the register. His footsteps soon followed after her.
They exchanged no words over the counter as she rung up the price and he handed her the money in his pocket. They said nothing as she headed to the back room and returned with his jacket that had mostly dried. They barely looked at each other as she handed him the small plastic bag that held his Oscar Wilde novel.
"Thanks." the stranger said, putting his jacket on and taking hold of the bag. Pallavi could only bring herself to nod in reply. She pulled out an umbrella from behind the counter and held it out to him.
"Here." Pallavi glanced out at the rain beyond the windows "You're going to need it."
As he took hold of the umbrella, their fingers brushed against each other and she felt another surge of warmth slip into her. Her heart jolted into a quicker pace. He fumbled and almost dropped it. His face was crimson. He didn't look at her as he mumbled another 'thank you' and began walking towards the door.
Pallavi watched his back and glanced at the empty air that stood beside him. As he reached the door she felt something in her push her voice out.
"C-Come again!" She stuttered, a farewell that resonated through the air of the store and the air around her suddenly felt too warm. She watched as he stopped moving and turned around to look at her. A grin blossomed on his face.
"Will do!"
Winter had now settled in and Pallavi began to notice how often he came in through the door. Granted, she realized that she was always watching for him, waiting for his arrival. His visits became like clockwork, every day at the same time. But as soon as she would see him enter, she would lose him among the stacks of literature and would never see him leave. The times she relished were the times when he was buying a book. They barely exchanged a conversation, but occasionally he would ask her for recommendations. Pallavi would always point him towards the direction of the balcony, in response a smile would always creep onto his face before he would go. That was the extent of their talks now, it was nothing compared to that rainy night, but she was okay with it.
Lately, he hadn't been coming in. Pallavi assumed that it was because the holidays were soon approaching and he had familial things to take care of. He didn't have time to come here. Regardless, his absence made her a bit sad. She had hoped to see him before the holidays.
"Pallu, did you already make some more tea?" Her aai asked as she stepped behind the counter while Pallavi leaned on the front of it.
"Yes aai, there should be plenty for everyone now."
Pallavi looked back out to the middle area of the store where people had gathered and were sitting in various chairs, their attention pointed to a single person sitting on a stool. It was the monthly readings the bookstore held to support young writers in the area, most of them from local high schools. Writers, young and old, were always encouraged to share their works—poetry, prose, essays, whatever it was. Teachers often came with recommended students. Over the course of the evening, she recognized a few faces.
"Looks like a good crowd tonight." Her baba walked up beside her and leaned onto the counter as well "Lots of people are buying books, too. Business is looking good."
Pallavi and her mother smiled at him. Her mother went into conversation with her baba while she simply looked back at the crowd of people. Suddenly, a familiar dark-haired man rose from a seat and took his place on the stool. With her interest peaked, I tuned in my ears to listen to him.
"Ah, what I wrote isn't as fancy as everyone else's.." his voice shook "I'm no good at this sort of thing, but I hope you like it anyway."
He looked down at the piece of paper in his hands.
"Words, she says. I'll fall in love with his words, she says."
Every moving organism in Pallavi’s body froze and felt colder than the frigid air that tumbled outside. He continued on.
"At first, I didn't understand it. How can you fall in love with someone's words? Words are just letters put together. Words are just meaningless things on paper. I don't understand it."
Pallavi found herself leaning forward.
"Because... I don't know the words. I don't like words. I like business. I like numbers. I like the feeling of being first, the feeling of making others bow down in defeat; cower in fear on hearing my name. I like reading others' minds, being steps ahead of others and I like playing tennis. Those are the things I know."
There was a small murmur in the crowd. Pallavi smiled while listening to it.
"I don't know the words. But I want to know them. I want to know the words she's talking about."
Pallavi stared at him.
"I want to know the words she's read. The words she's talking about. The words that she indulges herself in every day. The words that make her laugh. The words that make her smile. The words that make her heart beat fast. The words that surround her. Because when she walks she runs her hands along the spines soaking in all the words through her finger tips. I want to know the words she knows."
Pallavi's heart was beating uncontrollably.
"So I spent days on days throwing myself into these words. These words she's come to love. His words, her words, their words, new words, old words. Words, words, words. But I still don't understand. I don't get it. These words go over my head and I'm drowning and drowning because I just don't understand. I don't know the words."
He no longer stared at the paper in his hands. His fingers had stopped fidgeting. He was staring straight at Pallavi.
"But I do know her. I know that she likes to talk to herself. I know that when she dusts, she hums. I know that after she sneezes she bites her tongue. I know that she smiles when she reads Shakespeare. I know that she likes to stand in the sunlight. I know that she's not tall enough to reach the top shelf. I know that she likes to dry my hair. Those are the things I know."
Pallavi brings her hand up to her mouth; her heart felt like it was going to burst.
"Eloquently, she says. I know that I like how she says it. El-lo-quent-ly. I know that I like how it rolls off her tongue. I know that I like her brown eyes which change colour. I know that I like her smile. I know that I like how she moves so gracefully between bookcases. I know that I like her voice. I know that I like her voice when she says words. Any words."
Pallavi started moving away from the counter and walked through the bookcases; her hand still covering her mouth. She wanted to cry; she was so moved. She could still hear his voice between the shelves, her heart beating rhythmically in time with it.
"I'll fall in love with his words, she says. Even though I don't know words, even though I don't understand words, I think for her sake I can still try. Yes, for her sake, I want to fall in love with words, too."
The audience gave him a loud round of applause as Pallavi made her way up the staircase to the upper level. She turned to a corner and pressed her back against the spines of Orwell and Twain; her breathing heavy with tears brimming in her eyes. This wasn't happening. This wasn't real.
Pallavi heard footsteps racing up the stairs and turned her head only to see him standing there, staring at her, slightly out of breath and blushing. She looked away from him.
"Were you really watching me this whole time?" Her voice a whisper.
"I came here once with my sister" he said "And saw you working, you were always so interesting. The way you held the books, the way you turned pages, you loved every single word you saw and every word that was around you. Before I knew it, I was watching you from afar. I was entranced by everything you did. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn't know how. What the hell would I even say?"
Pallavi stayed quiet and he took a step towards her.
"Would I have anything in common with you? What was there for us to talk about?"
He took another step.
"That rainy night, I had entered the bookshop to take shelter. Call it a coincidence or not; I decided I wanted to start reading all the books you read. But all I really wanted to do was talk to you. Your voice..."
He was standing right in front of Pallavi now as she kept her gaze on the floor.
"Your eyes..."
His hand lifted her chin up slowly.
"They are so much better up close."
His eyes glinted in the dim light. His face was so close to her. His warm breath fell onto her lips like a soft fog.
"I..."
"Shh.. Raghav." Pallavi whispered, barely audible. Her eyes locked with his. "Enough words."
He pressed his lips against her.
Among the spines of fiction she had engrossed herself in since her childhood. She felt the ink of her own words and letters, the ink of those figments of her own imagination, and tumbled into reality.
They tumbled ever so eloquently.
Do give your feedback on this and do criticize it.
Thanks
REEM
DT Note
Proof has been provided that the original author has given the permission
Pati Patni Aur Panga
Kyunki Saas Bhi Kabhi Bahu Thi 2
