The little bell above the bookstore door chimed gently as Niah strolled in, her scarf snug around her, fingers still chilly from the morning air. Today, she seemed more refreshed, or maybe just more confident. A sense of purpose surrounded her like the warmth that follows a cold spell.
Maria glanced up from the counter, her glasses perched on her nose as she squinted at an old ledger. "You're early today. I wasn't expecting you until ten."
Niah offered a soft smile while she set her bag down carefully. "I wanted to talk with you about something."
Maria raised an eyebrow but remained silent. She waited patiently, knowing that life doesn't always provide straightforward answers.
"Maria… I've decided to help with the community archives," Niah announced. "The one Father Delran mentioned a while back. They needed someone to help organize, and I thought... maybe it's time for me to try something different. Just for a bit."
Maria didn't respond right away. She closed the ledger, nudged her glasses to her forehead, and studied Niah thoughtfully.
"You've been carrying something within you lately," she said gently. "I sensed something was brewing."
Niah blinked in surprise. "You did?"
Maria chuckled softly. "Sweetheart, I've known you long enough to catch the unspoken hints in your silences."
It was just Maria being her honest self, always supportive.
"I won't stand in your way. But you'll still come back here every now and then, right?" she added, her tone softening. "It would feel too quiet without you bustling around in the back."
Niah grinned, feeling a lump in her throat. "I'll still be around. Just not on a full-time basis. Jules might finally enjoy the quiet she claims she wants."
Maria smiled but didn't press further. She handed Niah a warm paper bag. "Take this with you. It's an Apple turnover. Don't go meeting priests on an empty stomach."
Niah accepted it with a smile and gave Maria a warm hug, saying, "Thank you!"
Maria replied, "Oh, now, that's too generous," as she held Niah's shoulder and nudged her toward the door, saying, "Off you go now."
* * *
The chapel stood as dignified as ever. Older than the stones lining Eldermere's streets, with ivy winding up its sides as if time itself had slowed to embrace it.
Father Delran awaited her by the arched entrance, his robes dusted with soot and candle wax. He greeted Niah with a warm, weary smile.
"I hear the bookstore is losing one of its shining stars," he remarked.
"Just temporarily," Niah replied with a slight shrug. "Maria made me promise."
"Good woman," he nodded, gesturing for her to join him.
The chapel halls carried the scent of old incense and parchment. They walked past half-burnt candles and storage crates filled with fragile, well-loved books and scrolls that required gloves to touch. It felt like stepping into a yet-to-be-written history.
"She's waiting for you in the records wing," Father Delran informed her as they turned a corner. "The project coordinator. She's a bit… particular but kind. You'll see."
As they approached the wide archway to the archives, Niah paused. The atmosphere around her changed. Anticipation filled her chest, mingling with nerves or perhaps something more.
Inside, a woman with cropped silver-streaked hair and a heavy binder was bent over a layout table, muttering to herself. She glanced up as they entered.
"Ah, you must be the new addition," she said briskly, extending a gloved hand. "Dr. Elira Thorne. Don't let the PhD intimidate you; I only pull it out when people test my patience."
Niah blinked and shook her hand. "Niah Viremont, from Greenbell Bookstore."
"Great. I need someone who knows how to listen and respect things older than both our ages combined. Can you do that?"
"I… think so?"
Dr. Thorne grinned, sharp yet friendly. "We'll see how that goes soon enough."
Father Delran chuckled. "I'll leave you to it, then. And Niah, if you survive your first day, you can take my chair in the reading room."
Niah watched him stroll away, her heart surprisingly steady. Not all fresh starts need to be loud, some enter quietly, one decision, one door, one step at a time.
Turning back to Dr. Thorne, she faced the archives, which stood dusty, patient, and ancient, ready to welcome her.
* * *