The image of that boy crouched over his burning paper stayed with Aarya longer than it should have. Even after she'd gone home, unpacked her bag, and opened her own notebook, the thought lingered: some people didn't just discard what they wrote they destroyed it.
The next afternoon, the library was quieter than usual. Aarya had only meant to drop off a book, maybe browse for something new. But as soon as she stepped in, she saw him.
Mohan.
He wasn't browsing the shelves or rearranging books like the other staff. Instead, he walked straight to the far corner, past the section where the rows thinned out and the shelves gave way to that grey metal door. She'd noticed it before flush against the wall, no label, no sign, just a small, unremarkable keyhole. The kind of door people pretended not to notice.
Today, Mohan was carrying a cardboard box. Not too heavy, but full enough that he kept both hands under it.
Aarya moved slowly between shelves, keeping a few rows of books between them, peeking just enough to see.
Mohan unlocked the door in one smooth motion, like someone who had done it a hundred times.
For the briefest moment, she saw inside a narrow room crammed with stacks of old notebooks tied with fraying string, faded file boxes, and bundles of yellowed newspapers slumping under their own weight. A graveyard for words.
Mohan slid the box inside with careful precision, as if even dust had its place in there.
The door began to swing shut and that's when Aarya heard another voice.
"Well, well. Detective Aarya at work again?"
She spun around. Sid was leaning against the end of the aisle, arms crossed, grin firmly in place.
"I'm just… returning a book," she said, trying to sound casual.
He raised an eyebrow. "To the public library?" He tilted his head toward the grey door. "That's not public."
She hesitated. "You know what's in there?"
"Old manuscripts," Sid said. "Stuff from past years writing program entries, drafts, even weird one-off projects. Too important to throw away, too strange to put on the shelves."
"Strange how?"
"Depends who you ask. Some say there's brilliant stuff in there, others say it's junk. Rumor is, once a year they go through it all and decide what gets archived and what gets… burned."
She blinked. "Burned?"
"Yeah. Burn Day. Tradition, apparently. You've probably already seen someone doing it on their own." His smirk widened. "You know, torching their work before anyone else can."
Her mind flicked instantly to the boy crouched in the schoolyard yesterday, matchbox in hand, the paper curling and blackening under the flame.
Before she could reply, there was a metallic click the sound of the grey door closing.
Mohan stepped out, locked it, and looked toward them. His expression wasn't unfriendly, but it carried a quiet edge.
"You two done loitering?"
"Almost," Sid replied without missing a beat.
Mohan walked past them without another word.
As his footsteps faded, Sid leaned closer, lowering his voice. "If I were you, I'd sneak a look before Burn Day comes around."
Aarya glanced at the grey door again, her pulse quickening.
Between the boy with the matchbox and the locked room full of forgotten words, something was beginning to stir not fear exactly, but a gnawing pull she couldn't ignore.
Somewhere inside her, curiosity caught fire.
Somewhere inside her, curiosity caught fire. She ran her fingers over the spines of books, scanning for the one she had been chasing since last week. The library was quieter than usual, the faint hum of the ceiling fan blending with the rustle of pages from somewhere deep in the stacks.
"You really are something," a familiar voice broke through her focus. "Coming to the library on holidays… what are you, the poster child for diligence?"
Aarya turned, already recognizing the teasing lilt in Sid's voice. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"I'm not here to study," she said, slipping the book from the shelf.
"Oh?" Sid raised an eyebrow. "Then what? Going to play detective all day again?"
"Nope." Aarya hugged the book to her chest. "Got invited by Riya you know, the girl from class. They're meeting to discuss new ideas in groups."
Sid's grin widened. "So… you finally made a friend. Good. Because if you didn't in a few more days, I was going to introduce you to some of mine."
She rolled her eyes, but a small smile betrayed her. "You act like I'm incapable of socializing."
Sid chuckled. "Not incapable. Just… selective. Painfully selective."
Sid's voice still lingered in her ears when Aarya stepped out of the library.
"Don't get lost on your way there, Lonely Bird," he had said with that teasing grin that made her want to whack him with a hardcover dictionary.
She rolled her eyes at the memory, hugging her sling bag closer. "I'm not a Lonely Bird," she muttered to herself, though the echo of his chuckle made her suspect she didn't sound convincing at all.
Aarya lingered by the library's tall glass door for a moment, the faint smell of old paper and floor polish still clinging to her. Outside, the street hummed with life kids in groups, a chai stall uncle joking with his regulars, two women bargaining over vegetables. She watched them for a second too long, her hand tightening on her sling bag strap.
It hit her, not for the first time, how easily she had slipped into this little shell of hers. Books, assignments, errands everything she did lately could be done alone. And while it was peaceful, it also… wasn't. She could go days without a real conversation that wasn't about deadlines or buying groceries. No silly jokes. No "Hey, let's hang out." Just… her.
"Great job, Aarya," she whispered to herself with a small, dry smile. "If the goal was to turn into a hermit before twenty-five, you're doing amazing." She gave herself a soft pat on the shoulder, half in jest, half in consolation, like a coach motivating a player who'd been sitting on the bench the whole season.
Part of her wanted to blame circumstances, but she knew better. It wasn't just life—it was her, too. She'd gotten too comfortable watching the world from the sidelines, like a reader peeking into someone else's story. And maybe just maybe she was starting to realise that doing that forever might leave her with nothing of her own to tell.
She sighed, shaking her head, trying to brush the thought away before it got too heavy. And that was exactly when Sid's voice floated back in her mind, playful and annoyingly clear.