The cookery section had a smell. The smell of cuisines uncovered, steeping in a pot of daydreams, waiting to be savoured. The air along the aisles was drenched with wafts of "Try me" and "Use this". As she lingered and fingered the spines, her stomach knotted. Hastily, she reminded herself that her day would soon come.
- -- - -- -
Locked in embrace, a boy and girl floated groundward on their cloud of nine. Quite clearly, they were on a pleasant date, and quite likely, they were just a few months into their relationship. The girl was pretty, her long, gentle curls held up in a hair-tie. The boy, neatly dressed in a short-sleeved shirt and jeans, held her at the waist and looked admiringly into her face. Over a private conversation, she laughed and he drew her closer to him, taking a whiff of his lover's hair. It must have smelled nice.
Another boy, bespectacled and coiffed in short, light-brown spikes stood two steps above them on the escalator. He looked on intently, and wondered if he will ever one day hold someone so dear, so close, so beautiful in his eyes.
- -- - -- -
On a bench, two women sat with their backs facing each other. One a slender Muslim lady in her traditional headscarf, and the other a young, Chinese mother of three. Although they came from different homes, cultures and backgrounds, they both held in their hands a similar-titled book - the seventh and newest work by that 30-year old, lispy London chef. His fame, their familiarity.
- -- - -- -
Coming out to town on her off-day, she revelled in her temporary freedom. Inside the bookstore lay a trove of imagination and inspiration. Places to see, foods to eat, arts to appreciate, worlds to live in, languages to master ... and a double life to lead.
In her own marriage home, she was mother first, housekeeper second, and wife and companion on occasion. Getting herself lost in a large bookstore allowed her hopes and dreams to dance out to life. She took on, depending on her moods, the character of a free-spirited single, successful and rich, no less; Or an enthusiastic young bride, husband-focused, appearance-conscious. In those capacities, she would decide if she wanted to be a sexy chef, a photography enthusiast, a multilinguist or a budding interior decorator for the day.
With her head lifted high and her chest rising with confidence, she drank in, from the pages of magazines, recipes, home ideas and conversational French, the life that she dreamed about. If she was not careful, a jolt of reality would send her sputtering back into place. Her heart torn by pangs of longing as she was reminded of her current situation - her lifelong commitment to her family following an insignificant career, and a lacklustre pursuit of her hobbies due to, most frustratingly, little time to herself, little skill, little spending money.
Returning each book to its proper place, her lips turning a wry but hopeful smile, she chanted to herself softly, "Not now. It is not yet time."
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