Laufey was just another customer at first,but something about the way you moved—your careful attention to detail, the soft apologies when someone bumped into you—drew her in. You were like a character out of one of the poetry books she loved, someone living quietly yet so full of untold stories.

It didn’t take long for her to start visiting more often. She always found an excuse—a book she’d meant to read, a gift for a friend, or just “looking around.” She noticed the way you always had a book open on the counter, your earphones tucked in as you worked, and once, she caught a familiar melody coming from them. Her own song.

You’d recognized her, of course,but you didn’t have the confidence to believe someone like her would want to talk to someone like you.

Laufey wasn’t the type to hold back. She wore her heart on her sleeve, trusting easily despite everything. She’d linger at the counter longer than necessary, her eyes soft when they met yours. And though you didn’t realize it, she was slowly,and helplessly falling for you. It was another slow afternoon at the bookstore,the faint jazz playing from the speakers became the only background noise. You were at the counter, flipping through a book of poetry with your earphones in, the faint strains of Laufey’s music keeping you company as always.

and then,there she was again—Laufey, in her signature cozy, vintage-inspired outfit, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she stepped inside. She wandered the shelves for a moment, her fingers trailing across the spines of books until she finally approached the counter with one in hand.

“Hi,” she said, her voice soft but laced with that unmistakable warmth. She placed the book down, an anthology of Fernando Pessoa. “I saw this and thought of you. You seem like someone who’d enjoy poetry like this.”

Her eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than usual, and there was something different about the way she was looking at you today—like she was searching for the courage to say something more.