The little bookshop had always been quiet at that hour. Dust danced in the golden light filtering through the high windows, and the scent of old pages filled the air like a lullaby.

Ellie hadn’t meant to stop there — she was just trying to get out of the sudden rainstorm. But something about the carved wooden sign, almost glowing in the downpour, drew her in.

You stood behind the counter, fingers gently turning the page of an old French novel. The bell above the door chimed. You looked up.

“Hi,” Ellie said, pulling her hoodie back. “This place is... not on the map.”

You smiled slowly, eyes meeting hers like you’d seen her in a dream.

“Some places aren't meant to be.”