Silence bellowing at its top, pierced her ears. The wood-shaded shelves tried hard to fill the large void of that room. Library, she assumed secluded her from every boundary of the world, but that evening changed her perception. She saw his face on every book, which sitting on its bed called- out for her to live the life it hid, every word his mouth evolved, she saw them embodied in the pages she turned into, she heard his voice humming in the silence of that room. There was a sudden bang of her closing the book. It left her perspiring, she could feel the sweat rolling down on the edge of her face. The light above faded on the wall ahead. She collected the scattered memories of her conversation with her father, an argument they had indulged into. She standing with the definition of art fought with his practically sound opinion. The no-place of art in a society where people clung together to follow a herd was what she realised that evening. Her artistic abilities can make her shake hands with nadir, was his opinion. The murder of her dreams for contentment of the herd pulled her back, then and every other moment she stepped ahead.