The Anonymous Exchange

        Yogi rubbed his hands in delight as he placed the parcel on his lap. The wrapper was nothing fancy, just the regular brown paper with a red bow tied in the middle. He untied the ribbon and tore the wrapper in a fit of excitement. This was his first experience with the book exchange program. People from around the country send one of their favourite books to someone and in return, they’ll receive one anonymously. Last night, he dreamt that he had received a copy of Gillian Flynn’s new book from the writer herself.

He grinned as he looked at the hard-bound book. Out of habit, he opened the middle page and sniffed it. It lacked the musty smell as it looked brand new. “Anonymous” was the book’s title and holding true to its name, it neither had the writer’s nor the publisher’s name.

He opened the first page to see if there was a special handwritten note from his sender. But there was none. He sighed in disappointment thinking why he had enrolled in the stupid book exchange program. He had sent his favourite book, “To Kill a Mockingbird” with a personalised note wishing the reader a great experience and also shared his Goodreads blog ID. But in return, he got a random book that he had never heard of in his life.

He searched online about the book but there was no such title. This puzzled him because the people who wanted to participate in the book exchange program had to register their books in the website. For that, they need to provide the book’s ISBN code and that was also missing in this book.

Things didn’t add up. So, he tossed his phone aside and took the book again. Instead of judging it, he began reading the story. His eyebrows were drawn together and his fingers shook as he held the book unsteadily. As he kept reading, he didn’t realise that he was holding his breath and gulped for air. He kept flipping to random pages, reading various sentences. With each turn of page, his muscles tensed and the vein on his forehead throbbed. He flipped to the last page and read the final paragraph. He blew out his cheeks and threw the book on the floor.

The story was exactly the same as the novel he was working on. The sentences, characters, plot and everything was copied. But how on earth was that possible? This must be some sorcery, he thought.

He grabbed his phone and checked the official website of the book exchange program. He called their helpline number and a support staff answered.

‘Hello. I’m Yogi Fernandez. I received a book from your exchange program and I want to know who sent it. Can you help me?’ he asked breathlessly.

‘Sorry, sir. It’s against our privacy policy. We don’t reveal the name or address of the readers.’

‘Fine, can you at least tell me the name of the author of the book you sent me?’

There was short pause before the support staff spoke again.

‘Sir, you can see that on the cover page or the spine of the book.’

Yogi lost his temper but managed to speak in a stern yet civil manner.

‘Look, you think I’ve been a reader for more than a decade without knowing where the author’s name is printed? This book has no details, not even an ISBN code. It’s called “Anonymous” and I want to know who wrote it.’

‘Yes, sir. Just a moment.’

The voice stopped and an irritating music played as the call was put on hold. He tapped his fingers on the couch and kept looking at the book. The clock was ticking away as he tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. There was a click on the other end and the call resumed.

‘Sir, the book you are supposed to receive is "Salem's Lot" by Stephen King. The parcel is still in transit and will arrive tomorrow. Moreover, there is no such book in our database called “Anonymous”. Have a good day.’

The call ended and the sarcasm in the last sentence didn’t irritate him, but puzzled him furthermore. If this book wasn’t sent from the website, then who sent it and why? The book had his story but he never shared it with anyone. He took the book and flicked through all the pages and searched for a clue but there was none. As he stared clueless, his mother saw him slouched on the sofa with the book in his hands.

‘Oh, why did you unwrap it now? This is your birthday gift.’

‘What?’ he gaped at her.

‘Yeah, I didn’t know what to get for your birthday. So, I thought I would print a copy of the first draft of your book and present it to you. It’ll be easier for you to review and edit it.' 

He stared at her and sat in silence for a few seconds. Then, he threw his head back and laughed till his stomach hurt, while his mother stood confused.