By Aanya Sharma
Fog on her glasses from the steaming hot tea, a book in her hands leaves her in glee.
She's curled up on the couch, her mind's in some other reality, for her, books are heaven, they make up most of her personality.
A catch in her breathe as the climax grows near, she's deaf to the world; the book's all
she can hear.
Her definition of home is libraries and bookstores, her definition of love is poem, stories and folklores.
There are sparks in her eyes when at her bookshelf she looks, in this world it's just her and her books.
By Aanya Sharma
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