HUES OF PEACE

2. GREY (A man in his late thirties)

His temperament was a constant rollercoaster, swinging wildly from one extreme to another. With a mere flicker, his mood could swiftly shift from the depths of desolation to the heights of elation, or even veer off in an entirely unexpected direction. It seemed as if his mercurial disposition possessed a separate entity, one that had long forsaken his dreams and aspirations, relegating them to a forgotten corner of his being. This incessant fluctuation often left him fatigued, as his mind and heart tirelessly toiled, labouring beyond their designated duties.

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"Must it be that precise store?" he uttered with a monotonous cadence during the phone conversation. His tone bore the unmistakable indifference, revealing his lack of enthusiasm and participation solely driven by societal expectations. He found himself present against his own volition.

"Mom, it's possible that your recollection is mistaken, or perhaps the bookstore has closed its doors. It's been years since you last visited, after all. Maybe they relocated," he calmly responded, masking his growing impatience in his tone. Engaged in conversation with his elderly mother, who had been plagued by forgetfulness as of late, he strived to fulfil his role as a devoted son. Moreover, honouring her final wish remained his unwavering resolve.

As the call came to an end, his determination persisted, undeterred by the challenges ahead.

At long last, he laid eyes upon the weathered and worn bookstore his mother had fervently implored him to retrieve a book from. Raising his left hand to dab away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead, he stepped through the entrance. To his astonishment, the cool atmosphere enveloping him swiftly eradicated the beads of sweat, almost as if his hand's touch had conjured its evaporation. A sudden shift in mood accompanied the pleasant chime of the store's bell.

Approaching the counter in search of assistance for locating the book his mother had requested, he remembered her explicit instructions: to keep the slip of paper folded and to hand it directly to a staff member, refraining from reading its contents. However, the counter stood unmanned, prompting him to embark on an exploratory journey within the store. To his surprise, a predominant greyness suffused every nook and cranny. It felt as though his life had suddenly drained of colour, leaving him trapped within the confines of a black-and-white photograph. It was the closest analogy he could muster.

'May I help you?' a gentle, hushed voice broke through his daydreaming, catching him off guard. He turned around to find a girl standing by the corner, her presence a pleasant surprise. Her smile radiated a kindness he had never encountered before. Without hesitation, he retrieved the slip of paper, entrusted to him by his mother, and handed it over to her.

A subtle, caressing breeze brushed against him, its origin elusive within the confines of the store. Curiously, he scanned the surroundings, but found no windows or additional doors aside from the one he had entered through. The gentle gust remained an enigma, as if an ethereal presence dancing on unseen currents.

"Oh, what a remarkable book you have come for," the girl remarked, her smile widening as she departed to retrieve it. Intrigued by her comment, he pondered the nature of this book and what made it so exceptional. Yet, simultaneously, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something profoundly significant about the bookstore itself, a significance that surpassed his own comprehension.

The world beyond the store's door radiated a vibrant yellow, basking under the scorching sun, while everything within still retained its subdued shades of grey.

"Here you go!" the girl exclaimed, returning with a simple grey hardcover book adorned with a title engraved in shimmering gold. Intrigued, he examined the book, eager to uncover its hidden significance. However, to his astonishment, as he opened it, he discovered that every page was entirely blank.

Perplexed, he pointed at the empty pages, flipping through them, seeking an explanation from the girl. All she offered in response was a smile—a smile that somehow reassured him that this was no jest, but indeed the exact book his mother had requested. A whirlwind of questions swirled within him, yet strangely, his mind remained serene, as if entranced by an unseen enchantment, rendering him incapable of uttering a single word to voice his inquiries.

"How should I make the payment?" he managed to inquire. The girl behind the counter gently slid a fountain pen toward him. "Simply write your mother's name on the first page with this pen, and take the pen along with you. Be sure to give it to your mother along with the book," she explained, accompanied by a warm smile.

Under ordinary circumstances, his composure would have surely faltered, leading to a potential argument. However, today was different. This store was different. "That's it?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow and gazing at the book.

The girl nodded, her smile unwavering. "That's it."

Following her instructions, he dutifully inscribed his mother's name on the first page. The girl placed the book and the pen inside a brown jute bag and handed it to him. "Thank you for making the journey to our store, even if it was merely a formality, even if it was merely to fulfil a duty," she expressed gratefully.

Casting one final glance at the bookstore, adorned with numerous books and a cozy reading corner, all veiled in shades of grey, he couldn't help but question his sanity in the face of the scorching heat he had endured during his search.

As he pulled the door handle to exit, the bell jingled with a delightful tone, as it should. Before stepping out, he turned back and inquired, "How did you know the book was intended for my mother? I never mentioned it to you."

Once again, the girl responded with a knowing smile.

That single smile was the only answer he would receive. With a sigh, he walked out of the store, the relentless heat unabated. Yet, curiously, he no longer felt its oppressive grip.

With each step he took, the questions and doubts that had consumed his mind about the store gradually dissolved into nothingness. It was as if he had found a semblance of peace—a peace that had eluded him since shouldering the responsibilities of running the household single-handedly, caring for his forgetful mother, and looking after his notorious younger brother.