Ryden Oneshots

Love In A Letterbox

He lets his hand close around the spine of the small volume, and he pulls it out curiously, turning it over in his hands and reading the title on the front: The Picture of Dorian Gray.

He's heard of it, of course he has, but it's one of those infamous books he's just never got around to reading but always say I will one day, (and of course, simply by saying that, knowing that it's a confirmation that he never will).

Ryan opens up the book carefully, as you have to do when you find a book hidden in the reccesses of the library, and the pages fan, the book naturally falling open at a specific page. Ryan immediately sees why. There's a thick sheet of powder blue paper slipped inside the book. Ryan pulls the sheet out and looks at it. It's heavy blotting paper - the kind you use for crafting or painting watercolours on. It's as blue as the sky and seems just as limitless. An empty space for potential words, and just as easily filled. The paper is pure blue - has no blemishes at all, and for some reason, Ryan feels guilty just for holding it.

He questioningly turns the piece of paper over, and immediately sees the swirls of black ink standing out against the paper. The handwriting is slanted and neat, almost italic. Ryan reads the words carefully, and his eyebrows furrow in confusion:

Chapter 2, Page 23, Line 18

He cautiously looks around, although he doesn't know why. It's not like he's doing anything he shouldn't. But he looks around him anyway, although the aisle is deserted and there's no one there to notice anything. Ryan's kind of glad no one's watching. The cubby hole feels like another something he'd want to keep secret and all to himself.

He looks back at the piece of paper of blue paper, telling him a chapter, a page and a line, presumably of the book he's holding in his hands. He mentally shrugs to himself and flips the cover of the book open, jumping directly to that page.

He counts eighteen lines down and reads the one phrase.

"You are a wonderful creation. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know."

Ryan stares. That feels oddly personal, like that hand of a childhood friend has just reached put again. But this one was left here - waiting for him - and seems half coincidence (if Ryan believed in such things) and half scary. Ryan shakes himself and reminds his brain it's being ridiculous. A line in a book that strikes a chord with you is exactly the purpose of reading. He subconsciously flips the book back to the front cover an re-reads the title, before his eyes are attracted to the words in small print: "With additional preface by Oscar Wilde."

Ryan tucks the book under his arm, casts one last curious look at the cubby hole, and makes his way out of the depths of the deserted aisle and back into the large part of the library still bathed in electric lights hanging down from the rafters. He smiles at Greta behind her desk as he checks the book out, slipping it into the side pocket of his bag. He walks purposefully out of the double doors onto the sidewalk and down the path past the coffee shop on the corner.

When he gets home, he's careful to place the sheet of powder blue blotting paper on his bedside table, before curling up in his bed with a hot chocolate, phone off the hook, and opening the book up at page one and starting the preface.

*

The familiar smell of books, the comforting rustle of pages as people browse through volumes, greets Ryan as he enters the library again the same time next week. The Picture of Dorian Gray is heavy and safe in his hands and he places it delicately back on the shelves to be stored by the librarians later. Sometimes he likes to find the place himself - save them a bit of work - and in the process, pick up another hidden gem whilst trying to negotiate the miles of shelving to find the right spot for the book.