Chapter 01
It was the first week of spring in New York, and although the weather was still cold, Rio could already start to feel the changes around her. Perhaps leaving home on her bike hadn’t been the best choice, but that was okay; it was Saturday, and she was excited about the opening of the used book fair.
Although she hadn’t had much time to read lately, there was something therapeutic about picking up a new book. Maybe two or three, who knows?
She had left home early to avoid facing too many people at the book tents, but perhaps others had thought the same way because as soon as she got off her bike and looked in the direction of the tents, a small crowd was already formed. Great.
Rio guided her bike to one of the metal racks and started locking it up. Around her, people rushed by—some with headphones, others holding steaming coffees, and some moving more slowly, exchanging smiles and words while dogs pulled their eager owners along.
Then a sound caught her attention. An annoyed grunt, followed by a muffled curse. She turned her head slightly and saw only a trail of long hair. The owner of the voice was just a few steps away, dragging two enormous suitcases. Rio raised an eyebrow, holding back a smile. Who the hell comes to Central Park carrying enough luggage to cross an ocean?
But the woman continued on her way, oblivious to Rio’s curious gaze, and Rio turned her attention back to what really mattered: the books.
Rio walked toward the tents filled with books. There were children in a small colorful tent, surrounded by fairy tale books, which made Rio smile. There was something magical about seeing the curious gaze of a child, fascinated by the discovery of something new. She missed that feeling, the intoxicating sensation that sometimes the simplest things could evoke.
She made her way to the other tents, fitting into a space between a few people, finally stopping in front of the books. Since it was a community fair, most, if not all, of the books were donated by local residents or bookstores that participated in the fair's initiative. Rio liked used books, no matter how worn they looked. She felt they carried a story, with the marks of time and yellowed pages.
If there was one thing Rio loved, it was books about plants. Yes, about plants. And no matter how many she had read, it was always nice to find another book on the subject. She couldn't help but wonder about others who also read those books. Did they love plants as much as she did? Did they work with them like Rio? Well, she would never know, and maybe that was the point of things, right? Either way, she picked up the book; it was hardcover and didn’t seem too worn, and she figured that perhaps the topic wasn’t that interesting to others. What a shame.
She continued her journey, occasionally lingering over some books longer than others. She already had three in her hands and was getting ready to grab a green-covered book about witches when another book was tossed in front of her. She looked to the side and saw a teenage boy, maybe about 15 years old, she assumed, with a clearly bored expression.
“Mom, this is so boring. Can’t we just go?” His tone was drawn out, as if being there was truly unbearable.
“Sweetheart, I said I would look at some books, we haven’t even been here for 20 minutes.” She heard the boy's mother reply, and by the tone of her voice, it seemed she was used to dealing with her son’s mood and wasn’t surprised. Ah, the teenage years.
“You owe me a cookie, you know that.” Rio chuckled at that, of course.
“And we’ll stop to buy your cookie, but before that, I have a few more books to donate, and I want to see if I can find something interesting too. You should look around and see if you find anything, put in some effort.” The boy huffed at his mother’s words and muttered something about all the book covers there being ugly. This made Rio turn her gaze back to the book the boy had thrown on top of the one she was looking at. Indeed, it was a cover that went unnoticed. A simple white cover with just an orange leaf providing some color. The title of the book was discreet, with a simple font, although the author’s name appeared much larger above the title. Rio picked the book up.
Quartet In Autumn by Barbara Pym.
To be honest, Rio didn’t recognize the title, and although she knew the saying “don’t judge a book by its cover,” it wasn’t something that would typically catch her attention. But, incredibly, something drew her in. She read the book’s synopsis and decided to take it. She knew this even before seeing the message in the first page.
Rio opened the book just to flip through it, and that’s when she saw it.
“Is loneliness a choice, or something that happens to us?”
Written in a beautiful, elegant way, the question hovered on the first page of the book where the title was repeated. Judging by the vividness of the ink from the pen used by whoever wrote it, it hadn’t been written long ago; it seemed recent. For a moment, Rio just stared at the phrase, and then she lightly ran her fingers over the writing, feeling the subtle texture of the ink on the paper.
Loneliness, she thought, choice or consequence?
Funny. She just wanted a book and now she was standing there in the middle of the fair, feeling like she had found something much greater. And the feeling of having discovered something special made her pay for the book, leaving behind the green-covered book that had initially caught her attention. Her feet moved quickly as she simultaneously placed the now four books she had bought into her bag. Her fingers were nimble as she unlocked her bike’s lock, soon mounting it and continuing on her way.
The question hammered in her mind, and she was eager to read the book and find out what made that mysterious reader write it.
She biked for a few minutes until she arrived at her apartment, and once in the tranquility of her living room, Rio looked at the clock. She had been out for just over an hour. She had planned to spend more time at the fair, browsing other books, maybe even having a coffee there. But that book, that question... She let out a sigh, running her fingers over the cover before throwing herself onto the sofa. It was Saturday, with no deadlines, no commitments. Nothing stopping her from opening those pages and discovering what else that stranger might have left behind.
And then, without further hesitation, she began to read.
*
Rio only realized, in fact, that a few hours had passed when a noise in her stomach sounded louder. Damn, she had forgotten to have lunch. She let out a sigh as she closed the book with a bookmark she had picked up, thinking about the last note from the unknown reader.
It didn’t take long for Rio to notice that she was going to experience a unique reading this time. Besides the question on the first page, that person had left little notes throughout the book. Rio couldn’t explain why she was enjoying this so much. The book was good, great actually, but those notes seemed to touch her in a different way.
Reluctantly, Rio set the book aside and headed to her kitchen to prepare something to eat. Her hands moved on autopilot while the sentences written in purple ink resonated within her, especially the last one, a bit longer than the previous ones, where a chapter ended halfway down the page, and whoever that mysterious reader was seemed to have taken the opportunity to write more.
“Loneliness becomes a constant backdrop in the characters' stories, as if it were a character in itself. A silent presence. Sometimes I wonder if the lightness of time is lost with youth.”
And damn, that struck her. Rio wondered what this person’s age was, what they did, who they were, and if they felt that loneliness was a constant in their life. The theme of the book would obviously provoke questions like this, but Rio felt there was something more in the words than just reflections on the story.
Does the lightness of time really get lost with youth? She wouldn’t be able to say for sure. And was that linked to the fact that maybe loneliness is something that simply happens to us, just like that person wrote on the first page of the book?
Rio sat at the kitchen counter with her plate in front of her. The question still hammered in her mind, and as she ate silently, new answers arose, prompting her to start a mental discussion with herself about what it all meant.
The sound of a notification on her phone caught her attention. It was Lilia, concerned because she hadn’t heard from her all day. Rio smiled at the message, replying that she was enjoying a day with a book. She took a moment to check the rest of the messages, seeing that there were some (many) messages from Jen in the group asking what they would do that night. When Rio replied that she wanted to enjoy a quiet weekend, Jen quickly responded with a tongue-out emoji, which made Rio laugh. The messages continued, but Rio decided to ignore them for now, as her mind was focused solely on reading more, on learning about what that person had felt, what else they thought.
She put the dishes she had used in the dishwasher and quickly returned to her spot on the sofa. She turned on the lamp next to her, diving back into the story and the mind of that unknown reader.
*
When Rio read the last sentence of the book, she felt her eyes welling up. How long had it been since she had read a book without stopping, finishing it late at night like an excited teenager with her favorite story? Well, it had been a long time. And the feeling of having connected with something like that again made her think about the lightness of time. Perhaps those words were making even more sense now.
Rio stared at the last note, thoughtful.
“Sometimes, loneliness is a reflection of our search for connection. What would you do if you could free yourself from it?”
Rio didn’t consider herself a lonely person, but she found an unexpected connection in that note. Was this freeing herself from something? Something she might not even know existed within her? Or was there a certain loneliness within everyone?
“Who are you?” she whispered. She didn’t know if it was for herself or for the universe, but it was then that she saw it.
The next page of the book contained only brief information about the author; there were no acknowledgments. But she noticed, and wow, how good it was that she noticed. She flipped the pages quickly when she caught sight of the shading of the pen stroke there.
On the other side of the last page. There it was. Rio felt her heart race, and she didn’t even know if she should feel this way.
“Dear reader,
In a world full of missed opportunities, have you ever wondered if some things are meant to be? Like finding an old book that seems to whisper your name or discovering hidden notes left behind by a curious soul. Maybe it’s a little game we play, where fate and chance collide across the pages of a story.
If you’ve found this, perhaps it was a sign. Perhaps stories are the only way strangers ever truly meet. If you’d like to prove me right, write to me.
She couldn’t believe it. It was almost as if that was the answer to her question. Of course, it hadn’t magically appeared; it had been there before Rio noticed. Before she even started the book. Before she opened the first page that morning, surprised by the initial question. Before that bored teenager had stopped beside her, along with his mother, tossing the book in front of her. Before that woman with the suitcases had blown past like a hurricane through Central Park.
Maybe for anyone else, it wouldn’t make sense, but for Rio, it did. And in that moment, she felt a bit like that child from earlier, with curious eyes and the feeling of having found something special, and she had found it, she knew that.
She read the message again, unable to contain a smile. She didn’t have a name, but that was okay, it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that she knew what she had to do.
*
From:[email protected]
To:[email protected]
Subject: What does loneliness mean to you?
Dear stranger,
I confess that writing an email at the middle of midnight on a Saturday, or should I say Sunday already? was not exactly what I had planned for my weekend. In fact, as I write this, I feel a bit silly. I wonder if you’ll think so too?
But, I confess again, finding a book with notes from a stranger that would probably go unnoticed on another occasion gave me a nostalgic feeling of discovering something new. I’m not quite sure how to explain myself, maybe I really am being silly, which makes me feel somewhat embarrassed because you are so good with words.
Your questions made me think.
Is loneliness something inevitable? Or something we choose? And if we choose, does that necessarily mean it’s voluntary, or is it imposed upon us, so that in the constancy of loneliness, or in the lack of options, we accept it as certainty, as if it were a final decision at a moment when we can no longer see the lightness of things?
I don’t consider myself a lonely person, or perhaps I didn’t until this morning. But after reading that book and your impressions about it, I find myself asking: What is loneliness? Is it just being alone?
So, if this is a little game, let’s play it together this time. I invite you to answer this question.
What is loneliness to you?
I’ll wait for your response, more eagerly than I should. In fact, I’m already anxious to know what you have to say.
R.
P.S. It seems obvious to me that you created an email especially for this, in case someone replied, so it felt fair to do the same.