In Lily’s Garden.

The Records of Lily’s Transparent Bookshelf

I pulled one of the open pages closer, unfolding it wide. It was as if a scene was playing on a giant movie screen. I saw the back of a man. In front of the chair he was seated in, there was a wall covered in sheets of paper. He looked as if he was trying to solve a problem. Exhausted from trying to untangle a complex puzzle, he ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair.

Another scene unfolds. The man is throwing papers onto a fire, as if he has finally solved the problem. He laughs with his companions, relieved and joyful, freed from his struggles.

In yet another scene, under a clear sky, a man is running his fingers over the inscription carved into a pillar of a grand temple. Dressed in ancient robes, he appears older and solemn, lost in deep thought. The inscription on the pillar reads, “Know thyself.” Suddenly, someone calls out to him from behind, and he turns around.

Did he just make eye contact with me?

No, that can’t be. I’m watching this scene from the attic, so there’s no way he could see me. Yet… what is this feeling? It was as if we had locked eyes. The scene changes again.

Now, the man is on an airplane. He seems to be threatening the woman sitting next to him. The pages flip rapidly. It’s the same man I saw before, but now he’s older, his face gaunt, a cigar clenched between his lips. He’s dressed in a suit, surrounded by a crowd of people.

Another scene unfolds. This time, the man is walking through an ornate bathhouse. The camera focuses on his legs as he enters, then shifts to his upper body, with his arms resting on the edges of the tub, expressionless. As the camera pulls back, the entire bathhouse, adorned in gold, comes into view. Small waterfalls trickle down the walls, disappearing before they touch the floor.

Now, the man, dressed in a black robe of luxurious fabric, walks down a corridor and enters a large library. He sits at the central desk and begins typing a manuscript on an old typewriter. Someone, also wearing a similar black robe, quietly enters the room. She takes a book from the shelf, looking satisfied, and places it on the desk. But the man is gone, and so is the typewriter. She, too, vanishes, leaving only the book on the desk.

The curtains flutter behind me.

Bright moonlight streams in through the window, casting an eerie glow.

As I keep staring at the moon, it looks as if someone reaches out, grabs it, and turns it into a diamond. The diamond becomes a necklace, worn by someone whose face is hidden. I instinctively knew it was the same woman who had entered the room and vanished earlier. Only she could do something like that.

The page turns again, and now a man is standing in a beautiful garden, gazing at an apple tree. I feel a strong desire to step into the scene. Just as the woman plucked the moon and turned it into a jewel to wear around her neck, I reach out to pick an apple. To my surprise, the apple falls, catching the man’s attention. Time passes, and now a boy in a wheelchair sits in the same garden. But it feels like a movie set. I can’t forget the look in the eyes of the man with glasses. I remember seeing him play a British wizard in some film. Where did I watch that film? There was no time to think.

The pages turned again without waiting for my thoughts.

A child in a red cloak appeared. She looked like Lily. Just as I was watching the pages, she was staring at a giant movie screen stretching across the universe. The screen flickered, as if life was flashing before her eyes. Her face was hidden beneath the cloak, and only shadows from within the cloak reflected the scenes on the screen. It reminded me of the transparent bookshelf I once saw. The record of the man gazing at the apple tree in the beautiful garden, and the scene of the man with glasses stumbling on the stairs.

The child in the red cloak is now riding a large black paper airplane. She pulls a book from the airplane’s wing, which flows and has a deep, watery texture, writes something in it, and then flies off somewhere.

Now, a girl in an orange cloak is standing by a pillar, writing something. Behind her, there’s a glowing beach, and a pumpkin-shaped boat is docked. Could it be that the inscription the old man once saw on the pillar was written by this girl?

Something feels off.

The girl is writing, but I can’t see the letters.

Did her ink run out?

Before I could finish that thought, everything went dark.

When the scene brightened again, a child in a yellow cloak was standing next to a large black sphere. She was talking to someone, yet it looked like she was speaking to herself. She reached out and lit a black flame in a lantern hanging from a yellow hot air balloon, and the balloon was drawn into the black sphere.

A strong wind swirled through the scene, bringing forth a child in a green cloak riding on a large leaf. She was holding a pen bigger than herself, with three small clocks embedded in it. Each clock was surrounded by glowing letters. As she moved the pen, green ink spilled out, writing something in the sky.

I watched for a while, and then the scene shifted again. This time, a child in a blue cloak was looking at the Earth from inside a transparent bubble. She seemed lost in thought, watching a river below that snaked and curved like a serpent. Then, as if making a decision, she pulled out a thin, paper-like screen—similar to the page I was holding—and wrote something on it before disappearing.

I searched for a pen, but there was none in the attic. When Lily disappeared, her pen disappeared with her. It must have been precious to her. She took it with her.

A sound of books falling drew my attention away from the page. The bookshelf shook, and a few books tumbled to the floor. Their titles were “Bella’s Halloween Red,” “Bella’s Halloween Orange,” “Bella’s Halloween Yellow,” “Bella’s Halloween Green,” and “Bella’s Halloween Blue.” I quickly read through them, sensing that there were more Halloween books to discover.

But the transparent bookshelf was not kind to me. It refused to show me any more pages.

I wanted to read more, but instead of unfolding the paper airplane that might contain clues about Lily’s whereabouts, I spent my time aimlessly rummaging through the shelves.

It was then that I found a large black quill pen in the corner where the books had fallen. I picked it up, deciding to write the remaining Halloween books myself. I followed the pattern of the previous titles: “Bella’s Halloween Navy,” “Bella’s Halloween Purple,” “Bella’s Halloween Gray,” and “Bella’s Halloween Black.”

As soon as I wrote the titles, the pen began to move on its own, smoothly writing out stories that matched the titles. Everything progressed effortlessly, and I read through the books quickly. But then something strange happened. Just as Lily’s emotions had been recorded in the transparent bookshelf, it now felt as though my emotions were being recorded as well.

Strange. That shouldn’t be happening.

Suddenly, a paper airplane flew in, and the story continued.

A girl in a navy cloak was sitting inside a metal sphere. Unlike the other children, she had a different aura about her. She peered through a gap in the sphere, and, noticing me, gave a faint smile. A rush of thoughts flooded my mind. Was she looking at me, just as I was looking at her?

Next, a girl in a purple cloak appeared. She was floating on a cotton candy cloud, tying up her long black hair.

Everywhere she passed, the dark spaces of the universe were tinged with shades of purple.

Next, a girl in a gray cloak appeared. She wore a glowing, transparent butterfly brooch and carried a scythe that was larger than herself. But on closer inspection, it was actually a pen. I hadn’t thought of such details, yet it felt as if the pen was filling in the gaps, following my writing.

The child in the black cloak did not appear. She vanished before the scene on the paper airplane could conclude.

Of course.

Because I was the one wearing the black cloak.

I decided to enter the transparent bookshelf. Just as Lily had disappeared, I would follow wherever the pen led me. I remembered that the child in the blue cloak had pages similar to the ones I was holding, and I wondered if I could replicate them. Holding the illustrated pages and my black cloak, I prepared to step into a world I had never experienced before.

With the thought that I might not be able to return, I left a note in the attic and entered the bookshelf.