Fear did funny things to you. Aruna knew that.

What Aruna didn't know, was how fear in itself wasn't a lone emotion. You picked pieces of it up along the way. First, it's a simple sentence that's repeated over and over again. Over time it's a feeling so deeply etched into the wiring of your head that you can't forget it.

Okay, my apologies. The science class I just attended may have hardwired my brain into using too many technical terms. Let me break it down with an example.

Precisely five years ago, in the month of May, Aruna had found herself propping the maroon stained cycle up against the grey wall, crossing the recently dug up road and walking into the bookstore with an eagerness that threatened to spill over into the hearts of the bored-looking shop owners. Sure, it was scorching hot—something that the sweat clinging to the back of her neck wouldn't let her forget— but the thought of finally being able to finish a trilogy she'd never been able to find kept the smile fixed in place.  All it had taken was a visit from her 'cat lady' neighbour and a throwaway comment about a bookstore that had opened right down the street for her to rush to her sandals and cycle.

It was a doorway, you see? Because even as she ran her fingers across the spine of the novel she'd spent forever searching for, it was the words inside that gave her the solace she needed oh-so-desperately.

A 'bookworm' was one word you could call her. Cowardly was another.

Things were easier living the life of a character who had a tragic end or a happily-ever-after already written in stone—or rather, on paper. They spoke the words she couldn't, they did things she could only ever dream about and they suffered like she wished she did.

The man behind the counter had given her a little trolley with even little-er wheels and she took great delight in turning it around the corners. The metallic contraption already held the book she'd walked in for, but she couldn't resist picking an Agatha Christie. Her trolley weighing two books heavier and her heart infinitely lighter, Aruna made her way to the counter and stood behind a man in a beige tinted shirt. Her unconscious self was suddenly reminded of the jacket her dad loved wearing but her conscious self wondered why her lips had decided to split into a wide grin at the sight of the colour.

A minute or so later, she was in front of the counter and she had no idea of what she was expected to do so she just stared at the man with a perplexed smile. He just offered her another smile in return and then asked her to let him know the numbers written at the back of the books so he could store it. 

"We've stored it all in the system, here-" the man had said and, after pausing for a second to turn the monitor towards her, had gone on, "-the numbers refer to a particular book so it's easier to keep track."

Aruna let out a shallow breath and had blinked up at him in confusion. Where had that come from?  All he did was let out a chuckle from under the dark moustache and tell her how her eyes had conveyed the confusion she felt in regards to the procedure. His chuckle still suspended in air, Aruna couldn't help but let out a giggle too. Then she had read the numbers aloud, muffling the smile that had tried to worm its way up her lips every time the man had fumbled with the keys and sworn under his breath.

She wasn't the only one who made mistakes.

With her confidence restored, Aruna had dropped the deposit with the man, flashed the girl at the second counter a quick dimple-laden smile and had made her way out with a skip in her step.