That Friday, five years ago, had been the best day of her life till recently. Now she wishes she had never entered that library, where she met that heartbreaker, but she recalls pushing open the heavy swing door and going into a large hall with a tiled chessboard floor.
The library stood in solemn silence, untouched by the chaos of the world beyond its towering doors. It was a sanctuary where time seemed to slow, inviting every visitor to trade the noise of everyday life for the quiet companionship of books.
About forty to fifty shelves of neatly arranged books fanned out from the central reception area. Behind the shelves were comfortable leather armchairs and large barricaded tables for quiet studies arranged in rows.
The cold and hushed atmosphere was occasionally punctured by laughers and loud whispers. The entire hall smells of old books and bleach.
