The bookstore smelled like old paper and vanilla candles — a cozy scent that made Aria linger. She stood by the poetry section, running her fingers over worn book spines when a shadow appeared beside her.

It was him. The boy with soft eyes and a quiet smile. He didn’t speak — but his expression held a silent hello.

Feeling bold, Aria picked a poetry book, tapping a line with her finger before tilting it his way:

“Love speaks in silence more often than in sound.”

His smile widened. He pulled out a pen and wrote in the corner of the page:

“Like this?”

Her heart flipped. She grabbed his notebook — maybe too bold — and scribbled back:

“Exactly like this.”

For a moment, they exchanged words in ink and paper, a secret language of their own.

Finally, he wrote again, hand lingering a beat longer as he handed the notebook back:

“Would you like to write more… over coffee?”

Cheeks burning, Aria nodded, adding one last word beneath his:

“Yes.”

And just like that, a story without sound had already begun.