An Open Letter to William Thacker (Hugh Grant in Notting Hill)

​Oh, Will. My sweet, innocent Will. How I wish I had walked into The Travel Bookshop that day instead of Anna Scott! How I wish I had bumped into you around that corner. I wish I could have gone home with you.

I also know that if I were the girl standing in front of you, asking you to love me, you’d choose her. You’d choose Anna Scott. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s perfect! The both of you are meant to be! But, oh, what wouldn’t I do for a man who owns a bookstore, lives in a house with a blue door in Notting Hill, and is as beautiful as you are.

​It is the way you carry yourself; it is your demeanour, your blissful unawareness of simply how perfect you are, that makes you well, perfect. It is in your simplicity, in your frankness, your bumbling affection, which makes me love you so. It is the gleam of “bad boy” in your eyes, your glasses, the skip in your step, the smile on your face that makes you so lovable.

​Regardless of how happy I am for you and how happy I am to admire you from afar, I wish I could trade places with Anna for just one day. I would soak in every aspect of you. I would soak in every inch of you. I would imprint on my brain your laugh, your eyes, you. I’d sit with you and read. I’d hold your hand and walk down to the bookstore. I’d make you laugh, go to the movies with you, and do whatever else you want to do. I’d come with you for dinner at Max’s place, heck I’d even help him cook. I’d be best friends with Bella and Honey and even try to make Spike a little, um, organized. But I know Anna does all of that too. If I traded places with Anna, I think I wouldn’t try to be her. I’d be me, hoping you could see that I probably wouldn’t be much better than Anna, but I hope you could love me for me.

And if you did tell me you love me, I’d want that to be the last thing I hear before I switch places to being myself again. My silly, old self. Living a normal, uninteresting life. Away from Notting Hill. Away from you. Oh, I hate this part. Having to remind myself that you don’t really exist. But I think you do. Maybe not as “William Thacker.” And you probably don’t live in Notting Hill, and you aren’t married to Anna Scott. But I believe I will have my own William Thacker. My own bookstore owner, who will walk into me around a bend and take me home, after which we create history. After which, we’re happy. Forever.

Yours Obsessively,

A Girl, standing in front of the world, asking for her very own William Thacker.

Author: Zoyah Virani

Editor: Charmee Purohit

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