There were three of them, ancient Greek pillars also called columns. They stood parallel to each other; however, they differentiated from each other in height. Since the bottom wasn’t visible, it could not be ascertained as to why there was this difference in height. There was nothing in the background, and in its entirety the view was covered by a red hue and the view was limited to the edges of the book cover.
The book cover always caught Prisha’s attention. It was a book about how some ancient Greek philosophies can be applicable to the current world, or the current world of when the book was published, since the book had been there for a quite a while. Prisha felt like she had seen it there all her life.
Maybe it was more of a thing of attraction to the cover, which could pull you into deep thoughts of different tones.
The study room was old, and it felt old and smelt old, many books were there, in the metal bookstacks. The Covers of some books were torn, and pages were turning yellowish-brown. A corner of the wooden table was chipped off a little, the table had been repaired and polished several times, but it carried the weight and pressure of a man who drowned himself in work. But he would always smile when Prisha would come, he would look over the black rims of his glasses, his curly hair always disheveled. It would be like he returned to this world from another world.
People found him different from normal since he would spend most time in his thoughts of no one knew where. But he would ensure he passed on a few words around just to get things going.
Prisha liked her uncle, not only was he always nice to her, he never really tried to pry too much into Prisha’s life with questions that started to sound less comfortable after a certain age. He always had a good book to recommend.
Prisha’s aunt said he was working on his own book alongside his professional obligations, it was there somewhere in his computer, yet to be found.
Prisha wished her uncle would return home from the unknown, it had been a month, maybe he went to find the next chapter. Nobody knew. She would love to see him sit back into the chair and start working, perhaps tell her about the story he was writing.
Written by Anuran Chatterji
Early Morning Memories 
One response to “What was Gone”
A beautifully written and atmospheric piece. The vivid descriptions of the study room and the mysterious book create a sense of nostalgia and quiet wonder. Prisha’s affection for her uncle feels genuine and touching, while the ending leaves readers with a bittersweet longing that lingers long after reading. A short story filled with warmth, mystery, and emotion.
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