The Book That Became a World

(Hey guys! This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing assignment, where the topic was to step into the world of our favorite book as if through a portal and create our own adventures within its pages. So I choose Anne of Green Gables! And I'd love to know your opinions on this story)

No one ever believed me when I told them about what happened to me in the forest that day. So I write my story here hoping that my words will matter for once. And to relive those ethereal moments, if only in memory. So, if you, my dear reader, chance upon these pages, remember this: magic exists, love endures and some doors are never truly closed if only we find the courage to knock.

I was but only 18 back then, old enough to have outgrown childhood, yet still young enough to feel lost between dreams and reality, when I lost my way in the forest beside my mother's cottage. Perhaps it was because I was so absorbed in the book that made me wander further away than I intended to. Or perhaps the golden shafts of sunlight slipping through the canopy like melted butter lured me ever deeper into my fancies until my feet strayed from the familiar path. But ever afterward, I counted it as the most fortunate mistake of my life.

Have you heard about the Giant Oak Tree that stands tall and proud in the heart of the forest? The old folklore goes by that it can take you anywhere, even in the wildest corner of your dreams. All one must do is believe in the power of its magic, step beyond the thick curtains of its leaves and imagine the world where they wish to go. So when I saw Giant Oak Tree, I knew with all my heart that it would lead me to the world of Anne of Green Gables, where Anne would still be young and full of mirth and merry laughter. And oh, how glad I was to prove the old folklore right.

When I stepped out from the Giant Oak Tree I found myself in a place that resembled the Haunted Wood, a little forest nestled between Anne and Diana’s home. But what bewitched me the most were the sounds and smells of laughter and innocent joy, rising to me like the soft breaths of honeysuckles and wildflowers. I was so lost in drinking in those sounds and smells that I was quite taken by surprise when the two girls emerged from the trees. 

They walked hand in hand, each carrying a book and a basket. But the moment their eyes met mine, they froze, as if I were the very ghost of the little murdered child that haunts the corners up by the Idlewild that they once had imagined. 

“Oh my dear, who are you?” inquired the girl with startling grey eyes and auburn hair. She was my dear imaginary friend Anne; the very Anne I had been dreaming of only a few hours ago, and yet here she stood before me, as real as the Giant Oak Tree behind me. 

“A wanderer,” said I, for that was the first thing that came to my mind. “I let the winds of the day carry me, and they brought me here in these lovely woods. And may I inquire who are you and what is this dear place called?” I finished with a beaming smile.

The two girls exchanged amused glances and flooded me with their questions:

“A wanderer? Oh, do tell me all about your adventures!”

“Do you really travel all alone, all by yourself?”

“Have you traveled to the seven seas?”

“Is it true that wanderers have seen all the lands there are and know all the wisdom there is to know? For they have traveled far and met all the wise people?”

“Is this why you are wearing funny clothes? Because you are a foreigner?”

“Oh no, don't tell us you are a Yankee!” they exclaimed together.

I chuckled weakly and answered as best as I could. “I am indeed a wanderer, but I have not traveled far. This may be my very first expedition, so I fear I have few stories to tell and no grand adventures to narrate.”

I glanced down at my overalls, suddenly aware of how out of place I must have looked in their world. “As for my funny clothes, they are quite ordinary where I come from, nothing strange at all, I promise. And no, I am most certainly not a Yankee, I can assure you of that. And may you be ever so polite to answer some of my queries?” They nodded eagerly upon hearing the last sentence and smiled sheepishly. “Of course,” said the other girl with black locks and sweet dimples, “of course, where are our manners? Well, I am Diana Barry and I live across the woods in Barry’s Cottage. This is Anne-”

“Spelled with an e,” interrupted Anne before Diana could finish. “People hear call me Anne Shirley but if you like, you may call me Princess Cordelia. And I also live across the woods in the Green Gables,” finished Anne with a flush and a wide grin that danced on her lips. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss…?” asked Daina Barry.

“Marium,” I whispered, suddenly embarrassed about how foreign my name must have sounded in their ears.

“Oh? Is it Marry Ann?” beamed Anne with a mischievous spark in her eyes. “Do you suppose you could be my kindred spirit twin since we almost share the same name?”

“I might be,” I shrugged and beamed back at her. “And I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well, dear Anne and Diana”

After that, we settled into a merry conversation, talking about anything and everything. They told me all about their lives, their fantasies, dreams, and aspirations, and even about their little story club, where they, along with their friend Ruby Gillis, would gather on Saturdays in the Dryad’s Bubble to craft stories. They insisted that I must read their tales someday, visit the Dryad’s Bubble, and even join them as their guest, be it an evening in their homes, a picnic by the Lake of Shining Waters, or a stroll through Lover’s Lane. Their hospitality felt so warm and earnest, as though I had always belonged in their world, as though the Giant Oak Tree had not simply brought me to a different place but to a long-lost home I had never known I was missing.

At dusk, we parted ways. Diana left first, claiming she had to get home quickly before her mother grew cross. Anne stayed a little longer, strolling with me through the Haunted Wood. It seemed as though she wanted to say something, yet couldn't find the right words. That bewildered me, for I had never imagined Anne to be at a loss for words.

"Is something the matter?" I asked gently when she glanced at me for the fourth time in a row.

"Oh, I don’t know how to tell you this. For once in my life, I feel lost for words… but I know you would understand me. I cannot help but feel that you know me better than anyone else," she finally admitted, her words slow and hesitant.

"My dear," I said, "no one can know you better than you yourself can. But I shall certainly try to help you. Now, tell me, what is it that’s troubling your mind so constantly?"

But when she began her story, I realized I already knew it. It was about her conflicts with Gilbert and how she regretted turning down his friendship, especially after he had just saved her life a few days ago during the unfortunate Lily Maid accident. She wished she had never been so proud and vain, ruining her chance to finally make amends with him.

“What shall I do, Mary Ann? I’m sure I have ruined everything, and there never exists a soul that suffers from more regret and guilt than I do!” concluded Anne dramatically.

But I knew she wasn’t theatrical just for the sake of it. This was simply Anne’s way of expressing herself passionately. So, I asked quietly, “What makes you think it’s too late to sort things out? Perhaps the doors of repentance are still open for you. After all, Gilbert seems to be a sensible young man. I’m certain he would understand once you explain yourself to him.” I finished and glanced toward Anne.

“Oh, but how are you so sure that he would understand? He tried to make amends so many times, but it was I who tormented him, who never forgave him, who always held my head so high. He must have finally realized that beneath this charming facade, I’m just a vain and deceitful girl who doesn’t deserve his genuine friendship… or anyone’s friendship for that matter,” Anne said quietly, looking down at her toes.

I looked at her closely and saw silent tears streaming down her cheeks. So, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and said, “But you can never read anyone’s mind, my dear Anne. There’s a famous saying: people are like oceans, you cannot judge them by the mere surface. And so, you can never truly know what he is thinking. Perhaps he is a kindred spirit just like us, and he will understand you if only you give him the chance to. Sometimes, all it takes is a moment of honesty to mend what pride has broken.”

Anne remained quiet, staring at the ground, lost in thought. A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of wildflowers and the whisper of unspoken words. And as I looked at her, I thought:

so many people are shut up,
tight inside themselves like boxes,
yet they would open up quite beautifully,
if only you were interested in them. [1]

“People are oceans,” she said finally and I could almost hear her smiling. “People are oceans and you can never judge them by their surface. That’s a lovely thought to think of and I shall engrave it in my mind forever. Thank you.” 

“So will you go and talk things out with him?” I nudged her gently. 

“Oh, I most certainly will. In fact, I might do it right now. This very minute. He doesn't live far from here and it's only a twenty-minute walk. Would you like to come with me, Mary Ann?” 

I agreed, and together we strolled towards Gilbert’s farm through Lovers’ Lane. But we didn’t have to go far, for just as we turned a bend, we saw Gilbert himself riding towards us in his black mane. At first, his eyes lit up when he saw Anne but then they looked away abruptly as he realized his old habit of hoping for her attention was no longer needed. His face hardened ever so slightly as if he had reminded himself not to care anymore. Yet, I saw the brief flicker of something- hurt, perhaps? - before he straightened his shoulders and nodded politely in our direction.

Anne hesitated beside me, her cold hands clasped on mine. I realized she was gathering her courage and willing herself to speak before the moment slipped away. “Gilbert,” she called out at last, her voice so soft that i was afraid that Gilbert would never hear it.

He pulled at the reins, slowing his horse to a stop. His expression was unreadable, but there was a cautious curiosity in his silent eyes.

Anne took a step forward. “I- I was hoping we could talk?”

For a dreadful moment, the silence stretched between them and appeared like it would never end. Then, to my relief, a small hesitant smile tugged at his lips. “I suppose we could,” he said, his voice lighter than I expected.

And just like that, I knew the doors of repentance were still open for her. So I quietly traced my steps towards the Haunted Wood while Anne had a long and heartfelt conversation with Gilbert. When I looked back I saw Gilbert laughing heartily and Anne standing beside him with crossed arms and a mocked expression in her eyes. 

As I walked away, leaving Anne and Gilbert to their long, overdue conversation, I felt something stir within me. Watching Anne gather her courage had been like watching a mirror of my own heart, of all the things I, too, had left unsaid.

Hadn’t there been times when I had let pride or fear keep me silent? Moments when I wanted to reach out, but convinced myself it was already too late? I turned back one last time. Anne was laughing now, the weight lifted from her shoulders, the walls she had built around herself finally crumbling. She had been brave enough to speak, to open the door that she once believed was closed forever.

Could I do the same?

The path to the Giant Oak Tree felt different now, as if the forest itself had whispered a lesson meant just for me. And as I stepped through the thick curtain of its leaves, I carried with me not just the memory of Anne and Diana, but the quiet certainty that some doors never truly close.

Perhaps, when I returned to my own world, I would finally find the courage to knock.