How I Fell in Love with Books

Books and I didn’t start as friends. When I was a kid, they felt heavy not just in weight, but in expectation. I read because I had to, not because I wanted to.

Everything changed the first time I got lost in a story. I stayed up late, turning pages I didn’t want to stop reading. That’s when I realized books weren’t chores, they were windows to new worlds. They could take me to places I’d never see, let me think like someone else, and feel emotions I hadn’t felt before.

It was the little things that made me love them. The smell of a new book, the sound of pages turning, and a single sentence that stayed in my mind for hours. Each book felt like a quiet conversation with someone I’d never met, a writer who somehow understood me.

I started keeping books not just to read, but to treasure. I marked my favorite passages, wrote little notes in the margins, and returned to old books just to sit with them again. Loving books wasn’t about reading everything perfectly, was about letting them stay with me and teach me new things.

Now, books are my companions. They teach me patience, empathy, and curiosity. They remind me that every story matters and that the world is bigger and more beautiful than I often notice.

If you’re not into reading yet, start small. Pick a story that catches your interest. Let it surprise you, make you feel, and enjoy it. Love for books grows slowly, page by page, and once it does, it stays with you.