Sitara Khanna, a twenty eight year old librarian, is an acid attack survivor. With a half burnt face but a heart full of determination and calibers to survive in the world, she missed a certain element in her life. Love.
Yash Chaudhary, a twenty ni...
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I make sure to work downstairs, in the adult section, on Monday, because I know Yash is coming today to get his books. I’ve got them tucked away for him so they don’t get misplaced. I imagine the look on his face when I show the books to him. Well, maybe not show them, but… make him aware of their existence. I want to coax another smile out of him.
That thought of it makes me smile.
I feel a twinge of disappointment when three o’clock hits and he still hasn’t shown up. Maybe he forgot. Maybe he didn’t realize today is Monday. How do blind people keep track of what day of the week it is? Or maybe his mother told him what the librarian he was flirting with really looked like, and he got freaked out.
My God, where did that thought come from? Why am I worrying about that? So what if his mother spilled the beans? I hope she did. And if Yash doesn’t show up today, he’ll get the books another day. It’s not a big deal. At all.
At ten past three, the door to the library swings open, and my heart leaps in my chest. The excitement in the pit of my stomach surprises me. What’s wrong with me? Yash is just another customer. Sure, he’s a nice guy, but I don’t usually react this way to men. I’m not usually a pushover for a hot guy. Correction: I’m never a pushover for a hot guy. That’s my superpower.
And worst of all, it isn’t Yash who walks through the doors. It’s the worst possible alternative to him:
It’s Aliza Shah.
The woman who filed complaint against me being on children's floor with a scared face.
I duck my head down, hoping she’s going upstairs to the Children’s Floor. But no such luck. She makes a beeline for the desk, her highlighted ponytail swinging behind her. She’s not wearing much makeup today but she’s still very pretty. Effortlessly pretty. She was effortlessly pretty when she was nineteen and nothing has changed since then.
Aliza Shah had been the biggest bully back in college. Though our streams were far apart, she still found a way to entertain herself with my case.
She stops in front of the desk, a phony smile plastered on her face. “Hi, Sitara,” she says. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I murmur. I don’t want to pretend to have a friendly conversation with her after I know she complained about me.
“You’re down on the adult floor today, I see,” she says.
I shrug. “It varies.”
We just stare at each other for a moment. Finally, Aliza says, “I was just curious how long you’ve worked here.”
I want to tell her to get lost, but I can’t give her any more ammunition to come after me. “Three years.”
