Winter has arrived. Lamps are switched on early in the evening to ward off the unsettling grey. I am unable to see the road, as fog begins to descend on the neighbourhood. Even the caffeine is not working its magic, rather I seem to have borderline hypersomnia. I must stop mixing my chocolate and coffee.

The book falls on my chest, the music from the mobile filters through the softly lit room, I snuggle deep into the quilt, my eyes shut, I forget the world. Only my loud breathing seems to mark my presence in the room.

Someone is whispering. I wave my hand around my ear, maybe a mosquito has found its way in the quilt. My hand searches for the mosquito machine; it is warm. The whispering is louder now, then thud. The sound startles me. It’s too cold to jump out of bed. I rub my eyes and my warm body refuses to answer the non-stop whispers.

With eyes barely open, I leave my cosy space to find some warm water. The living room light is always on at night. The bookshelf door is open. I look at it twice—did I leave it open? The whisper is now a heated argument. It looks like a secret council.

The Da Vinci Code whacks Origin.  My eyes pop out, I rub them again. Did I actually see this? The books are arguing, their pages fluttering and their covers shaking. Did I not stack them in a separate pile for reading as and when I got time?

“You and Jeffrey Archer have been stacked over me for 365 days now,” says The Da Vinci Code. “We share the same father, Dan Brown, but that does not mean I have to take your weight along with those four Jeffrey Archers. You are dusty and I don’t like you.”

Origin rues. “I didn’t think we would come out of one storage space into another. She did borrow us from her oldest friend. I didn’t ask her to stack me over you. Mind your manners, I don’t like the reference to the father. I thought she might reach for me first, even though you are the more famous one. She didn’t even know about my existence.”

In his deep voice, First Among Equals says, “I thought I was her favourite, she read me as a teenager. Look at her now, all grey hair and slow brain, left me with you two newbies.”

“You opinionated old man! There are better options like us,” a chorus rises in unison—The Fourth Estate, Sons of Fortune and False Impression are all cheesed off at First Among Equals. “Are we just trophies? Don’t we bring any value in her life?”

Same father and no unity, thinks Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind. She will discover some truths about her species, if she finally realises what a treasure I hold.

“Say it out aloud, you pompous mouldy piece of history,” shouts The Stolen Necklace. “I am the latest and the most truthful of you all. I have a real story for her. She won me in a giveaway. I will be first one she reaches out to.”

“Well, well, Mr Necklace, you are nothing but an object of dispute. Look at sophisticated, fragrant me. She longs to go to Europe and learn how to make perfumes. I am the perfect choice. Also, I reached here with two bottles of perfumes through a giveaway,” The Perfumist of Paris says with a smug smile.

“I didn’t know she has never been to Europe. No wonder, she got me here in 2017, and I am still here. She might be deciding which season to read me in or maybe when she finally lands in Europe,” a very sarcastic remark comes from Four Seasons in Rome.

The Argumentative Indian stays quietly where it is placed. “Mind over matter, silence over speech, she will come when she is ready. Where is the hurry? I am an evergreen and forever read”, complacent and assured about its status.

Old is gold. “She has written several stories about me and the park named after me. She is a wildlife enthusiast; I am happy she has read half my exploits in Man Eaters of Kumaon. She will certainly finish the rest of the book soon,” Jim Corbett’s statement flusters the rest of the books. Their creators are asleep.

“Then there’s certainly hope for us,” both The Testaments and Tomb of Sand speak together. “She will reach the end of our pages, whenever. We have celebrity creators.”

The rest look at each other. “We are celebs too,” Atlas Shrugged tells Of Love and Other Demons and La Cousine Bette. “We are classics, we have survived the spate of time and we shall go on.”

“I leave it to time to wake her up,” says The Arthashastra. “I have been in this bookshelf for over two decades, my paper hasn’t turned yellow either. I look as new and fresh as when I was written and published. My original creator, Kautilya, would be proud of me. She always looks at me longingly. I have deep and long roots.”

“My roots go deep as well,” comes back Forgotten Foods: Memories and Recipes from Muslim South Asia. “She’s not a foodie though. To give her due credit, she did read the first part, Desi Delicacies. She has taken out her bookmarks, put the covers on the books, dusted the bookshelf and she is back to pacy reading challenges this year. I think she does have an intent to read us.”

“No one can escape my punch,” The Little Prince gives a pert ending to the debate.

Tsundoku, Tsundoku, free us or read us, they sing in chorus, their titles popping out towards me.

Are they calling me a book hoarder? Did they see me peering in the bookshelf?

Tsundoku, the Japanese term describes someone who collects books, especially unread ones. A bibliomaniac with a hidden hoard, accumulating stories they never delve into. The realization was like a punch to the gut. Was I truly a literary hypocrite, hoarding knowledge without consuming it?

The alarm bell rings. It is another morning. Was that a nightmare? I couldn’t let my books believe I was a literary imposter. The whispers are a call to action, a chance to break free from the chains of unread books and rediscover the joy of reading ,embrace my constant companion, and to be the catalyst for knowledge and growth.

I quickly rush to my bookshelf with a calendar and make my reading list. Thank God, I really didn’t want them jumping on my bed, whacking me; worse, they could decide to walk out of the house and abandon me. I also didn’t want a reminder from my friend to return her books.

This post is part of the Bookish League blog hop hosted by Bohemian Bibliophile

I’m participating in the #TBRChallenge by Blogchatter