It was a rainy afternoon---one of those quiet, gray days where even the sounds of the city feel like a soft lullaby. You found your self wandering into a tiny tucked-away bookstore cafe known to only a few loyal readers. The smell of old paper and freshly brewed coffee mingled like an unscripted symphony. the place was cozy, golden bright lights, bean bags in the inner part, snacks to buy.

A girl was at the counter. when you introduced yourself, she gently smiled. "I'm Jacqueline, but you can call me Jax."

For the next hour, you curled up in a secluded corner sitting on a bean bag besides Jax as she told you her childhood stories, and how a book could hold more emotion than any human. you both had your own hopes and some silly personal anecdotes. the conversation was unhurried, like turning pages of an old diary. the world outside melted away like the chocolate in your coffee, leaving hushed confession and gentle smiles.