Whispers in the Shelf
“I think it’s time we explore the market a little, see if we fit better with other cookies or biscuits—or maybe even a cracker, haha,” Jim Jam tried to lighten the mood. Butter Cookies sighed, “Of course, the market is wide open. The world is like an ocean; just cast your hook and fish through.” She let go of the last strand of hope she had clung to, hoping to keep her favorite cookie in her life. It reminded me of how easy it is to lose everything you love in the blink of an eye—whether it’s a favorite biscuit or your favorite person.
Cookies have always been my go-to snack, my absolute favorite indulgence in the entire universe. I used to say that mass-produced biscuits like Oreos should be banned to preserve the charm of the small bakery in my hometown. That bakery sells the most divine butter cookies on earth, with a perfect balance of chocolate and butter. I had made a pact that the first person to make me feel butterflies would be the first to know about these exquisite treats. But the sad truth is, while the cookies still sit on the shelf, the guy no longer stands in my life. As special as those cookies are to me, he was just as special. How often do you find yourself in a situation where, one moment, you find satisfaction in thinking about someone, and the next, hope turns to hopelessness, and you realize that thing beating in your chest is suddenly hollow?
It was midnight when I was browsing through the biscuit collection my brother kept locked away to prevent my cookie-mongering raids. But since I’m the one who taught him how to hide what he loves, it only took me five minutes to find all his precious belongings. When I opened the cabinet, I found a variety of snacks to satisfy my night cravings, but my eyes got stuck on two biscuits—my beloved butter cookies and those jelly-filled Jim Jams, sitting right next to each other. They were accompanied by Dark Fantasy and Bourbon biscuits lying nearby. Suddenly, I heard whispers. For a moment, I thought I was about to encounter some spiritual entities, but it took me two whole minutes to realize the truth—the biscuits were talking to each other! And the fun part? My two favorite biscuits were engaged in an intense, deep conversation that I couldn’t resist eavesdropping on.
Butter Cookies poured her heart out as if writing in a journal made of biscuits. She walked down memory lane, recalling the first time she and Jim Jam met and the moment they broke things off. “You were in my life for as long as I can remember,” she said. “My dearest friend, my confidant. We didn’t talk all the time, nor did we talk every day, but it never changed anything between us. From your rebellious attitude, hand is academic comeback, to his journey toward making a difference, I was with you. I’ve seen your passion for the stage, for anything that puts you in front of an audience, making you a people’s favorite. Who will ever understand you better than I do?”
It felt like my life was being replayed before my eyes through these biscuits lying on a random shelf. I slipped back into my thoughts, leaving the biscuit drama for a while, remembering my last conversation with my favorite guy. I realized I could never look at those Jim Jam biscuits the same way again. “Yeah, I know I still have the jar of butter cookies sitting on my study table,” I had told him. “You know I just can’t ever hate you; you’re still one of the most important people in my life.” And he had replied in a low voice, “You know, it’s just the right person at the wrong time, with the timing and the distance… you know what I mean.” I knew exactly what he meant, but my eyes didn’t understand—they weren’t supposed to tear up into a million bits and pieces with a single statement, but they did. I remembered Jim Jams, and he remembered butter cookies, but in the end, we both blamed our memories for holding onto what we once considered worth remembering. And now, here I was, hearing the conversations I never got to have with him, playing out between these biscuits.
In the moonlit lane of memories, Jim Jam recalled, “I vividly remember the first time we both felt something, last Christmas, during our holidays, right? Yeah, we went back home, met everyone, but it was different this time. Remember how we didn’t want to leave each other’s side, didn’t want to talk to our other friends or do anything else? When the group went out to click pictures in that stupid golden hour concept, I just stood there goofily with my hands over your eyes, saying, ‘Damn, it’s hot out here. Is this more comfortable?’ Everyone around us was in awe.” Butter Cookies welled up a little, saying, “That’s still the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I remember how the distance freaked me out—it still does—but I just asked you, ‘Listen, I know this feels right, but we’re too far away. Let’s see where this goes.’ You remember?” Butter Cookies nodded, saying, “I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t remember how the stars shone a little brighter and the sun glowed a little more.”
“You know,” she continued, “I loved being a more active part of his life—his melancholic partner, his human alarm clock, consoling him in highs and lows, advising him on how to build better bonds with his family, teasing each other… it all became part and parcel of life.” Butter Cookies smiled, remembering the process of falling in love. “I was hesitant to share the darker sides of my life, but knowing he was around made enduring everything a piece of cake. Once, during a panic attack, I couldn’t make sense of anything. It felt like the room was a black hole, about to pull me into oblivion. And then, Jim Jam appeared out of nowhere, bursting into my room with the most random story. Within moments, I felt okay without even having to tell him what had happened. That was his effect on my life—a healer without even trying. I wish your goofy laugh wasn’t so deeply imprinted in my mind.”
Jim Jam looked directly into Butter Cookies’ eyes, saying, “Do you remember when I used to breathe loudly or burp just to irritate you? It made me like you a little bit more each day.”
Butter Cookies kept wondering if she would ever find someone she could talk to about everything—desires, passions, fears, dreams, and how everything can turn upside down in both good and bad ways. “Your optimism and my pessimism kept a perfect balance of hope and reality in our lives,” she said. “You made me overcome my habit of not making the effort to talk to someone. It was just comfortable… kind of addictive if you stretch it to lengths.” Butter Cookies’ flattery made Jim Jam blush hard, but he knew he had to act normal for both their sakes.
But now, the road grew darker. The pretty parts of the story were over; it was time to remember why the flowers withered, why the sunset abruptly, and why they wish the shooting star didn’t come true in the first place. I knew the fate of the biscuits, but I needed to hear it again, just for my own sake.
Eventually, they both knew that Butter Cookies loved Jim Jam too much, and he didn’t have enough affection to fulfill even a fraction of what she wanted. He couldn’t hurt her, knowing her feelings were too strong to just keep her around. He cared about her too much to compensate her with anything less than love. “There are so many other biscuits out there,” Jim Jam tried to reason. “We’ll find something better for us in a blink of an eye. Why put ourselves into something that won’t fulfill both of our emotional needs?”
Before Butter Cookies could answer, I started pouring my heart out for her, saying, “I understand everything, I know everything, but I still feel rejected. I still feel we could have made it work. I still wish you cared a little more about me because I always thought you’d come back to me, just like birds return to their nests after a long, tiresome day. Birds can go as far away as possible, but they never forget to come back home. You promised that our bond wouldn’t change, that we’d stay in touch, that we wouldn’t change… but were we worth throwing away?”
As soon as the biscuits realized a human had been eavesdropping and was now actively participating in their conversation, they all went silent as if nothing had happened. But I got the closure I needed. “The people who want to be with you don’t see the road they have to walk to be with you. They just hold your hand, look into your eyes, and walk with you—no questions asked.” So, I quietly closed the cabinet, walked out of the kitchen, and went back to sleep with a content heart.
