From Sunrises to Signatures: How a Book Fair Changed My Story

Hi! I'm sure, you all know me by now-It's me"Ira".

I took my time savoring the book "It Starts with Us", letting each word settle like the slow unfolding of a sunrise. It’s hard to believe 45 days have passed since I met him. I wonder, has he thought about me? Does he wait, hoping for a message from me? Should I send one?

No, not yet. Let’s let the mystery linger a little longer, like a symphony building to its final note. When the moment is perfect, We'll meet.

I’m proud of how I’ve been putting my health first. The gym has become my sanctuary—each visit feels like sculpting a masterpiece out of marble. Today felt different, though. The morning light seemed to hum with possibility, and hitting a new PR made the day feel like a celebration of strength.

On my way home, something caught my eye—a small book stall, run by a woman who must’ve been around 76, but with the spirit of someone much younger. Her presence drew me in. There was something magical about her, something that made me want to buy a book just to see what she’d choose.

Without hesitation, she handed me "The One: It's Her". The cover didn’t immediately speak to me, but before I could say anything, she smiled knowingly and said, “Don’t judge a book by its cover”. Her words, so perfectly timed, felt like she had plucked them from my mind.

Starting a new book is always like opening a door to another world. As I opened the first page, the story greeted me.

"Hi! I'm Pearl," it began. "Catching flights a bit late is my superpower. I always seem to be running behind, promising myself 'next time, next time,' but so many chances have already flown away."

But I’m still the same—I don’t mind catching a morning flight, especially when it comes with the gift of a sunrise. This time, I’m not alone. My companion isn’t a person but something equally dear—a book titled "It’s Written in the Stars for Us".

I devoured 20 pages in the lobby. Putting it down felt like trying to pause time itself—impossible. But now, it’s time to board, and I hurried to my window seat, 19A. Everything is unfolding just as I imagined. The excitement of heading to Tuscany bubbles up inside me, like a tale waiting to be written.

The book's plot thickens—there’s someone new on the horizon. Just as the character is introduced, real life seems to echo fiction. I see him walking toward my seat: tall, draped in a blue denim jacket over a crisp white tee, paired with jeans as blue as the summer sky. He walks past me without a glance, taking the seat next to mine. Huh. Not even a second look. No matter. I lose myself in the pages again.

Fast forward to page 100, and somewhere between the words and my thoughts, I drift off. The book rests on my face like a shield against reality, keeping me in its dream.

Good God! What a sight greeted me! She is my View. He softly whispered. A free spirit, embraced by the soft morning light. The sunrise caresses her skin as though the heavens themselves have chosen her for their canvas, brushing her in warm, golden hues. Her brows arch, lifting her entire face with a quiet strength, while her eyes... her eyes. They flow like deep rivers, framed by brows that rise like mountains guarding a tranquil valley, creating a masterpiece of their own.

And there, at the center of her forehead, a small red bindi. It gleams like the first blush of the sun peeking between the mountain peaks at dawn, reflected in a serene lake. It’s the kind of beauty that feels so ethereal, you almost wonder if it’s part of the dream you were just in.

As she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers move with the grace of a musician playing an intimate melody on a guitar, each movement a quiet note in a song only she can hear. And when her sleepy eyes flutter open to greet the sunlight, they radiate a glow so pure, it’s like the ocean waves finally kissing the shore after a long, restless journey.

I can’t look away. She is beauty, unassuming yet breathtaking, like the perfect harmony between earth and sky, a balance so natural it feels both magical and real at once.

How long had I been sleeping, Pearl mutters to her. The sunrise had already painted the sky in hues of gold and lavender, and I was thankful I hadn’t missed it. Stretching, I decided to finish my book before the plane touched down. But then, I felt it—a gaze lingering on me. I turned and caught him staring. There was something about the way he looked at me, like he was on the brink of saying something.

He finally spoke. We started talking about the book I had been so absorbed in. I confessed how obsessed I was with it, how it felt like each page was woven with stars. I could see his eyes light up in response, as if he could see the spark in mine. He agreed with everything I said, and after a pause, he handed me a small piece of paper.

Curiosity got the better of me. I unfolded it, wondering what it could be. He asked me for an autograph. An autograph? I was slightly disappointed—it seemed he wanted to remain anonymous, leaving his identity wrapped in mystery. But still, I scribbled my name with a smile, wondering about the untold story behind his request.

He thanked me, then handed me two passes to a book fair in Tuscany, inviting me to join him. Excitement buzzed in the air. It wasn’t just the thrill of the fair, but something more—the sense that this journey was far from over.

We parted ways after landing in Tuscany, each of us stepping into the winding streets of enchanting city.

The book fair was set for December 31st, and when the day arrived, I went with a friend, eager to see what awaited me. As we entered the venue, I scanned the crowd for him but didn’t see a familiar face. Instead, I heard a voice, a man giving a speech. He was talking about a woman—describing the moment he met her, the way he’d held on to her autograph as though it were something precious, something beyond a signature.

The words sent butterflies through me. It was as if he was describing me—the moment on the plane, the autograph, the connection that had lingered in the air between us.

I moved towards the sound of his voice, pushing through the crowd, until finally, I saw him. There he was, standing at the center of it all, telling our story to the world as if it were a love letter written in the stars.

He was wearing an off-white blazer, the kind that exuded elegance without trying too hard. The moment I saw him, a wave of calm washed over me, as if the whole world had paused for a breath. He was serenity personified, and with a gentle smile that seemed to slow time, he said, "Hi, Pearl! Please, come up to the stage."

A man whose words had made me fall in love with his story is now calling me up in front of everyone. Him—the author of the very book I had devoured on the flight. My mind whirled, caught between disbelief and awe. This felt unreal, like I had stumbled into the pages of my own life’s novel. The event, it turned out, was to unveil his next book. And as I took each step toward him, I was swimming through a sea of emotions, each one tugging me in a different direction.

The crowd cheered as I walked, but all I could hear was the thunder of my own heartbeat. When I finally reached him, he handed me a small, wrapped gift. My mind raced—what could it be? I wished I could peek inside before I even opened it, but anticipation danced in the air like fireflies on a warm summer night.

My hands trembled as I peeled away the wrapping, and there it was—a bracelet. But not just any bracelet—it was my bracelet, the one I thought I had lost on the flight. Seeing it again brought a tear to my eye, a symbol of something that had slipped through my fingers only to find its way back to me, just like this moment. The energy in the room swirled with applause, but all I could see was him, standing there with a knowing smile.

Then, with the air of a magician revealing his final trick, he pulled out a handwritten note. It was for my autograph—not for the book, but for our future, for a lifetime together. I stood there, breathless, unable to believe what was happening.

And when I said "Yes," his arms swept me off the ground, lifting me as if I was the most precious treasure in the world. In that moment, I realized it wasn’t just a romantic gesture. It was the image for the cover of his next book—"Destined Hearts".

"Wow! How magical is this book? Fiction really knows how to raise the bar". Granny’s taste is impeccable, I laughed softly. Ira's heart is happy reading the book, I said to myself.

It's been 45 days. I think, I should meet the white shirt guy at the book fair to hand him over "It Starts With Us". It's his turn now.

To be continued...