Thomas was starting to regret his decision. Maybe a job at the library was not as easy as he imagined it to be. Of course, he loved his mom, but a summer job as a librarian was not something he had in “Things I Want to Do At Least Once in Life”. He glanced around the library. The library was fairly decent, with the window panes slightly discolored and the blinds a bit damaged, but the sunlight shone through it as there would appear a Greek God any instant, in all its true glory. The bookshelves stood tall and narrow as if silently conveying the years of experience it held as if somehow it had gauged almost every kind of personality that ever set foot in the library, the curious first-timers, the regular ones who might as well know every cobweb that seemed to exist, the nerds with the glasses at the tip of their nose and with more than half of the books memorized, and people like Thomas too, who had visited the library once to go to the loo, gotten a chewing gum stuck on his shoe, and had to throw out the pair. Thomas took that as God's way of telling him that this place wasn't for him. But he couldn't refuse his mom, anyone who knew him knew how his mom was his kryptonite.

It was midday and Thomas was almost drooling, half-sleeping, half-falling from the three-legged stool when suddenly, the sound of the wind chimes broke his stupor and entered an old woman, probably in her mid-60s, with a huge smile on her face as if all the happiness of the world was somehow contained in the little pocket of her pink long dress. She simply entered, walked right to the end, turned left, and as he watched the shadow of the woman disappear, his curiosity got the better of him, and he traced her footsteps to the section titled “Buildingsroman”. “She must be into history, makes one of us”, he thought.

“Is your favorite genre Bildungsroman too?”

Thomas took 5 seconds to register her question and another 5 to have a second glance at the genre.

Oh. It was Bildungsroman.

She must have seen the quizzical look on his face, for she gently laughed and said, “I have never seen you here before. Are you the new librarian?”

Glad that he finally had an answer to one of her questions, he said, “Just a summer job. Wanted to have a taste of independence.”

“Ah, the classic teenage whim. Set out to feel like independence is the only hurdle preventing them from conquering the world.”

Not knowing how to answer the question, Thomas just laughed politely and left to go back to his seat when he saw the woman ready to relax and read. The rest of the time he spent was fairly uneventful, and at the end of the day, he marked the calendar.

59 days more of this stupid job.

The next day somehow seemed to be slower, perhaps it had picked up on the fact that Thomas was anticipating the old lady to return today. He couldn’t pinpoint what piqued his interest, but he found himself wanting to engage in conversation and learn more from the old lady. It wasn't too long before the wind chimes signaled her entrance, and it seemed as if Thomas was once again greeted by happiness itself. This time around, the old lady had a small basket wrapped with pink and red striped cloth, but Thomas could identify the fragrance of freshly baked banana pies.

From thereon started a ritual which Thomas would later go on to describe as the moment he metamorphosed. He would wait for the old lady’s arrival and the new recipe she would be trying out that day, never failing to make his mouth water and keep him asking for more, much like a baby. She would take a book out, read it out to him, explain what she interpreted and analyzed, and Thomas would sit there, just like a 4-year-old kid being read to by his grandmother. He would often go around the town with the old lady, wanting to be pampered by the old lady.

It is the smallest, seemingly insignificant moments in our lives that wrap in themselves a bundle of joy and happiness, and we often fail to recognize the enthralling exquisiteness of life is, always wanting to look at the bigger picture.

Thomas was glad he wasn’t one of those people.

April 13th.

It struck Thomas as odd when the old lady, a creature of habit, hadn't visited the library for 3 days. It was even more frustrating because Thomas had been dying to tell her about all the various interpretations he had of the book they were currently reading. He was hoping for some appreciation, much like a small toddler demanding attention and love from their grandparents. Having a terrible gut feeling yet wishing that this time he would be proved wrong and nothing more, he set out to visit her at her house.

The sinking feeling only worsened when, to his fear, he found out from the old lady’s neighbours that she had been hospitalized owing to excessive vomiting. He at once set out for the hospital they had written on a piece of paper for his ease, after bidding goodbye respectfully. Thomas would never forget the emotions he felt when he first saw his grandmother-like figure, lying helpless on the bed. The face that was earlier home to the kindest smile Thomas had ever seen, was now just wrinkled and sickly. The myriad of emotions threatened to drown him in a whirlpool of anxiety, stress, and anger but he managed to regain his composure and tried to act optimistic and cheerful when meeting her. She smiled looking at him, suddenly looking years younger, and suddenly Thomas was ready to believe in wishing wells if it meant the old lady could live.

Thomas went home that day, tossed and turned over until he decided to get up and to his surprise, read the book the old lady had read on their first encounter. It was a simple story, composed of miracles and wishes, and of paper cranes. Thomas suddenly felt a lot better.

Back from her physiotherapy session, the old lady was surprised to see Thomas fumbling and mumbling standing on the top of a 3 legged stool, trying to hang a white paper on a string. Confused, she adjusted her glasses peeked over the boy’s shoulder and saw it was a crane.

“What’s all this, my boy?”, she asked.

“Have you ever heard of paper cranes and their magic? Apparently, if I tie a 1000 origami cranes, you’ll be granted a wish by the Gods, and then you’ll be as fit as a fiddle. Now I know, I am not one to believe in this and blah blah blah…but there’s no harm in trying…right?”

The boy’s fondness and innocence almost welled her eyes up with tears. His vulnerability seeped through his eyes in moments where he would talk about his single mother, talk about his father’s road accident, or that moment when he accidentally called her “Nana”. That one made her a little emotional too, to be honest. She knew she didn’t have a lot of time, but…would we exist if hope ceased to?

She gently smiled and nodded in affirmative, gently smiling to herself as Thomas helped her on the bed. She silently decided that if she would ever get to make a wish to the Gods, it would be to protect this child from all the cruelty the world has become prey to.

And from thereon started Thomas’ daily ritual which he would go on to call the gospel timetable. He would wake up early in the morning, make some paper cranes, eat breakfast, kiss his mom goodbye, head off to the library, and hurriedly set out for the hospital.

999,997,990,860,654,500,400….

The days passed by and the old lady’s health wasn’t getting a lot better. By this time, even Thomas had slowly started to realize the dreaded truth, a truth he would never be ready to face but would be forced to, and yet…yet that small glimmer of hope would always flicker in his chest.

And then came the dreaded day.

Following the usual, Thomas walked through the now familiar white-pale corridors of the hospital, but waves of gloom and despair refused to leave him. And it was then he saw the old lady not in her room, and the nurses, silently sobbing to themselves. He felt numb, and his feet refused to coordinate with his mind, so he slowly sat down where he was. The unspoken eye contact between the nurses and Thomas seemed to convey everything that needed to be told and Thomas sank his head in between his knees, wanting to stay strong, but failing to do so.

Time heals. We naturally refuse to believe it, adamant on the fact that happiness is nothing but a distant dream out of our reach, that the bright sunshine has turned to an everlasting looming grey, but the sun always manages its way out. Time heals.

Thomas had adjusted to a life without Nana, as he would call her now. In fact, Thomas had now taken up as a part-time job at the librarian, the smell of old dusty and new fresh books greeting him every evening, having the pleasure of watching people’s frowns turning upside down after a visit here, and Thomas felt ashamed to have ever thought less of this experience, and grateful he had someone to teach him, for not all of us do.

It was a windy day. He walked down the road to the library, the roads welcoming him with a canvas of dried leaves fallen to the ground, fighting till their last. He returned to his regular seat, the now worn 3-legged stool, the book he had been reading yesterday, lying on the counter, a torn bookmark peeking out from it. He turned to close the windows when suddenly something slapped him in his face and everything turned pitch black.

Oh. A paper!

Wait. No. A calendar!

Thomas held the calendar in his hands and examined it. It was still way back in time, in March. He saw the last time he marked something in his calendar.

59 days.

The last time he wanted all of this to be over. The first time he met Nana. The last time he called this job stupid. The first time he started enjoying this job.

“It’s so wonderful, that we can feel something as enchanting as happiness, even more beautiful that words fall short to express it, but how tragic that we often make the choice not to, and even more woeful that we often fail to realize it. ”

Thomas rolled the calendar and stuffed it in his bag. He resumed closing the window but paused when he saw the rain had stopped. The rays of sunlight were peeking through the grey clouds the sky had chosen to cover itself with.

The sun had found its way out.

.    .    .