The next morning dawned with a stubborn sunbeam seeping through the curtain, prompting a pillow to be hurled in defiance.
Niah was definitely not a morning person. If given the chance, she'd sleep all day.
With great reluctance, she pulled herself from the warmth of her bed, only to burn yet another slice of toast as usual and forget her umbrella until she remembered it right about the time the sky split open on her way to Greenbell.
By the time she entered the bookstore, her hair was dampened, and her patience was wearing thin.
"You resemble a soggy bookmark," Maria quipped, without glancing up from a pile of receipts with a smirk on her face.
Niah let out a frustrated huff, shrugging off her coat. "Why does it have to rain?"
"Ask God," Maria replied with a shrug.
* * *
The morning ambled past in their typical routine: reshelving books, sorting through new arrivals, and unboxing shipments that always seemed to be half-fulfilled. Jules had sent a meme that elicited an unexpected snort from Niah as she sipped her tea.
As mid-afternoon rolled in, the shop bell chimed and someone entered.
Niah stole a quick glance from the counter. The man who stepped inside was unlike the usual Eldermere crowd with no puffer jackets or muddy boots.
Instead, his coat was a long, charcoal grey, slightly damp from the rain, and his movements were measured and precise.
He didn't immediately raise his gaze, he drifted into the bookstore as if he melded with the silence itself.
There was something about him that caught her attention.
A peculiar stillness enveloped the air, making her wonder if the world had shifted in his presence. She restrained herself from staring.
The man moved towards the shelves at the back, in the section dedicated to old legends and folklore, and stood there motionless for what seemed like an eternity.
Niah returned her focus to the register, trying not to sneak glances every few moments.
Just as she bent down to retrieve a wrapped parcel behind the desk, she heard it, a very deep and alluring voice. Low and smooth, like distant thunder cloaked in velvet.
"This book," he said, extending an old, worn copy of 'The Hollow Myth, ' "is missing some pages."
Caught off guard, she blinked and straightened, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment, dark, deep eyes that were hard to forget.
"I'll—uh—grab you another copy," she stammered, an embarrassed rush surging through her.
But when she turned back, the man had vanished without a trace.
She blinked. Her gaze flicked left, then right, neck tilting slightly as if hoping to catch a glimpse of him slipping between the shelves. But the space where he'd stood was empty.
Left standing there, she held the book, feeling completely foolish.
"Did he just… disappear?" came a whisper from beside her, slicing through the charged silence.
Niah, startled, took in a sharp breath; she hadn't noticed anyone approaching.
Her grip around the book tightened, anchoring her in reality.
She spun around, Jules was leaning against the shelf, eyes wide, curiosity alight in them like a burning puzzle.
"When did you arrive?" Niah demanded, her heart still racing from the unexpected encounter.
Jules grinned, completely unfazed, as she lifted a paper bag in one hand.
"Just five minutes ago! I came to drop off your cinnamon roll, but uh…" she waved a hand vaguely towards the entrance, "Who just walked in? Was that a person or a figment of a poetic fever dream?"
Niah let out a sharp exhale, struggling to regain her composure. "Probably just a customer."
Jules snorted, tilting her head in amusement.
"Right… A customer who looks like he's got a dislike towards sunlight.
That evening, the bookstore closed with an unusual stillness. Niah couldn't shake thoughts of the stranger, his coat, his alluring voice, his captivating eyes.
She tried convincing herself it was nothing, merely a fleeting moment with a stranger.
Yet, something about him, like a whisper from her past, settled deep within her bones.
Little did she realize, the next time he came by… he wouldn't slip away before she caught sight of his face.
And she would call him something he hadn't heard in a very, very long time.
* * *