I found the library on a day I almost didn’t exist.
It was one of those mornings where the weight of every decision I’d ever made pressed down on me like a physical force. I had taken a different route to work, a small rebellion against the monotony of my routine. That’s when I saw it—a narrow alleyway I had never noticed before, tucked between a bakery and a laundromat. At the end of the alley stood a door, old and unassuming, with a sign that read: “The Library of Unlived Lives.”
The Doorway
I hesitated. This is absurd, I thought. A library? Here? But something about the sign tugged at me. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was a feeling, like the door had been waiting for me.
I pushed it open.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of aged paper. The library stretched endlessly in every direction, its shelves towering into a darkness that seemed to swallow the ceiling. The books glowed faintly, their spines pulsing with a soft, golden light. I reached for one, and the moment my fingers touched it, I felt a jolt, like static electricity.
The First Book
The title read: “What If You Had Said Yes?”
I opened it, and the words seemed to leap off the page. It was my life—or rather, a version of it. In this story, I had accepted the job offer I turned down last year. I watched myself thrive in a bustling city, climbing the corporate ladder, living a life of ambition and success. But there was a cost. The me in the book had no time for family, no room for love. By the end, I was alone in a penthouse, staring at a skyline that felt hollow.
I slammed the book shut, my heart racing. This isn’t real, I told myself. But the images lingered, vivid and unsettling.
The Librarian
“First time?” a voice asked.
I turned to see an elderly man standing behind me. He wore a tweed jacket and had eyes that seemed to hold galaxies within them.
“What is this place?” I asked, my voice trembling.
He smiled faintly. “This is where the stories of your unlived lives are kept. Every choice you didn’t make, every path you didn’t take—they all exist here, waiting to be read.”
I stared at him. “Why? Why would anyone want to read these?”
He tilted his head, as if considering the question. “Because sometimes, the life you didn’t live can teach you more about the one you’re living.”
The Revelation
I spent hours—or maybe days—in the library. I read about the life where I had stayed in my hometown, married my high school sweetheart, and raised a family. I read about the life where I had pursued art instead of finance, living in a tiny studio but creating beauty every day. Each story felt achingly real, as if I were living it in the moment.
But the more I read, the more I noticed something strange. The books weren’t just about me. They were about everyone I had ever known. I found a book titled “What If She Had Stayed?” and realized it was about my ex-girlfriend. In this story, she had never left me. We had built a life together, but it wasn’t perfect. She was unhappy, trapped in a relationship that stifled her dreams.
I felt a pang of guilt. Had I done that to her?
The Twist
Eventually, I found a book with no title. Its pages were blank, but when I touched it, I felt a surge of emotion—regret, longing, hope. I looked at the librarian, confused.
“What is this?” I asked.
He gave me a knowing look. “That,” he said, “is the story you’re writing right now. The one you’re living. It’s blank because it’s still being written.”
I froze. “But… if this is my life, why is it here? Isn’t this the life I’m living?”
The librarian’s expression softened. “Think about it. Every moment, you’re making choices. And every choice you make closes the door on countless others. This book is a reminder that your life is still unwritten. The question is, what will you fill it with?”
The Resolution
I left the library that day, but it stayed with me. The stories I read haunted me, not because they were better or worse than my life, but because they were possible. They showed me that every choice I made—or didn’t make—shaped the person I was becoming.
Now, when I face a decision, I think of that blank book. I think of the stories I’ll never live and the one I’m writing right now. And I ask myself: What kind of story do I want to tell?
“The life you didn’t live can teach you more about the one you’re living.”
