People were staring at her. Sia knew that, they always did but she did not care for those glares and sniggers; she knew they would not understand. As she turned another page, she laughed silently as she remembered the coffee stains on this one, and the little girl that caused the coffee to fall from the cup in her hands onto the page. How carefree that little girl was!
The torn page reminded her of the innocent eyes tell her the truth, about how the little girl “tore the paper because she was angry but could not remember at what”. And how scared the little girl had been, but it was forgotten. Except the vivid memory which kept coming back when she saw the book.
Every page was a testimony for a life that two souls shared for five years. She smiled remembering that the little girl had the book read to her every day when she was too small to read, and those were the very first words that she read once she could. This book was Sia’s comfort. It was her Grand Mothers habit. She was just happy to relive her memories with her Grand Mother every single day.
No, Sia did not care what others thought of her reading a children’s book. To her it was not just a book, it was a piece of her childhood she held on to, a fragment of her memory she treasured, a part she never wanted to forget.