A.Y.

Claire might as well be smelling of A.Y.’s books going by the hours she spends in the college library. Four side tables run along the parameter of the library and two corner coffee tables provide a comfortable reading experience. Although appreciating the aesthetic value of teak wood, Claire has never once leaned against anything other than the windowsill for reading. Seated adjacent to the French windows, Claire is about as much part of this library as its bookshelves. 

She was mostly by herself on weekends, except that one time when she heard sounds of shuffling from across the room. At first, she was sure it was a cat. She resumed reading until the shuffling sounds turned into loud thuds of books toppling upon one another. She grabbed at the nearest mopstick and made a beeline for the exit. 

A lean muscular figure materialized before her as she neared the door. When he stood in front of her, his tall frame was nothing short of intimidating. Claire gasped for breath, but so did he. Contrary to her first impression of him, the boy was a complete nervous mess. His words were rushed and each sentence ended in an apology. After asking him to take deep breaths, Claire managed to get some intelligible words out of him. She found out he was searching for the work of A.Y. Needless to say, the boy lost his balance trying to reach the topmost shelf and grabbed a pile of books on his fall. A.Y.'s books lay scattered on the floor- an established, critically acclaimed author whom Claire admired to the point of making her final year project based on. 

Claire offered the boy some water which he gulped in one go. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what has had you so shaken?” Claire asked in her sugar-sweet voice. The boy looked intently into Claire’s eyes, as though that was an answer in itself. He then cleared his throat and raised one eyebrow at the book in Claire’s hand. 

“Oh yeah, these…” She began, then immediately changed her tone as she noticed his smirk. 

“You, mister, have no right to judge me for reading Impenetrable”

“Madame, you are mistaken-”

“Sure I am”

“Alright, I apologize I am not particularly habitual to seeing women read A.Y.’s Insanity series” 

“They are literary marvels, especially the psychothriller subplots. They should be seen that way.”

“Well said” The boy remarked, intrigued. 

In the next hour, Claire and the boy whom she soon recognized as Evan had an interesting conversation about medieval literature and their significance in understanding the era. They hardly shared the same views when it came to characterizations but that’s precisely what made their conversations so engaging. One moment Claire favoured Lizzy when Evan defended Darcy while in the next it was Catherine and Heathcliff. It was as though the characters across all classics rose to life within a single hour, in the confinement of a single room. What truly got both of their creative juices flowing was their discussion on A.Y.’s abrupt endings. He was known to leave the endings vague which left plenty of room for all interpretations. They mutually agreed it was a bold decision to end story after story in the same fashion. 

When Claire spoke of the elements of romance in A.Y.’s work, she made it sound as pure and beautiful as true great love in classics shall be. 

“A.Y. could write about an ordinary evening with his love interest and we’d devour it like a saga” 

Evan's genuine laugh was followed by the sound of the wall clock, leaving Claire startled. She couldn’t believe she had spent over an hour talking books with a stranger, sitting on the library floor throughout. Only he didn’t strike her as a stranger. Their interest in A.Y.’s work was an instant bonding catalyst. After going deep into his stories and their themes, they talked about A.Y. as an author. 

Claire was surprised to know from Evan that “A.Y.” wasn’t a pen name, neither was it a real name. It expanded to “Anonymously Yours”, a clever way to spread one’s voice from the shadows. Evan said that the idea was for every reader to imagine the words of whoever they needed them to be from. As an added bonus, it served as a shield from public fame and glamour to the author. Claire was utterly impressed by Evan’s knowledge. She had been working on a project on A.Y.’s work and even she didn’t find sources for the origin of those initials. It made her acutely aware of how much research work she had yet to complete. Evan immediately sensed her change in demeanour as she straightened up and cleared her throat. She said her goodbye which Evan could tell for a fact would be their last, and left. His chest ached in a way he hadn’t known chests could ache. As though he had something, albeit momentarily, and it was slipping through his fingers as he stood watching. 

‘Claire and Evan, Evan and Claire’, he recited in his mind. The two names went along so well, he thought. A snapshot of him and Claire seated amongst several books of his replayed in his mind. That glint in her eyes when she spoke of how much she admired his work made him believe she wasn’t sitting amongst his books- she was a part of his books. His soon-to-be work. 

A month before the presentation of her final year college project, when she was struggling to choose one book of A.Y. amongst her countless favourites, her dorm bell rang, revealing a copy of “The Girl I Met At The Library” written by A.Y. and a note left alongside it.

“An ordinary evening for you, a saga for me”

A.Y.