Amongst the dense forest of entangled wires and crowded cars, stands tall a tower. This is the Green Tower, inaugurated in 1888, and nestles in a town called Morbi in Saurashtra, Gujarat. While walking up the 3 stories, the world can be seen below as it passes by. The whiff of old books will be in the air—a concoction of dampness, wooden flooring and aromas of the market below, unfurling in. Usually, some visitors trickle in, picking up similar books as they prepare for competitive exams, releasing the books from their curse of loneliness. With a keen ear, you might be able to hear a soft call for help, almost muffled by the dusty layers of forgotten years and the louder voices of building’s history. But it’s a voice meandering out of one of the many old, yellowed books, calling out to the few visitors of the day, begging to see more than just the daylight finding its way through the arched windows. Tales are meant to be travelled, and here, bound in books, most of them lie waiting to be read. Although it is the books that are in the tower, it is the visitors they are asking to let their hair down, unwind and pick a book, and release them from tower away farther away from the forest of entangled wires and crowded cars, maybe even further than Morbi, to live happily ever after.