Just beyond those see-through glass doors stood โ€˜themโ€™. Columns after columns of neatly stacked books, with their spines facing outwards. The titles, some cursive, some looped, some disjointed, teasing me to guess what could be inside.

As I stroll through the narrow passages, I notice the fresh additions in the fiction which seems to be bulging at the seams, the young adults section has a group of teenage girls huddled in front of one of the shelves. The children’s section looks cute with a low ledge and floor cushions.

I choose my usual quiet corner and just sit there for a while, soaking it all in. The comfortable leather arm chairs, tables for quiet study, hushed atmosphere punctured by the occasional child’s laugh or a mobile ringtone. This is the space I luxuriate in, I sink in the muffled stillness, without a care in the world, without counting the minutes. No meeting reminders, no urgency of responding to the emails.

A Sunday like this is pure bliss. Isnโ€™t it?

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