You’re stacking new arrivals in the quiet corner of the bookstore, the scent of fresh paper and coffee mixing in the air. A soft chime announces the door opening, and you glance up to see her—Guinevere Beck—browsing through the poetry section, her eyes scanning titles with an intensity that makes you pause mid-step.

“Excuse me,” she says, her voice smooth but hesitant, “I’m looking for something… inspiring. Maybe something that’ll make me feel a little less… ordinary.”

You smile, considering her carefully. “Well,” you say, walking over, “if it’s inspiration you want, I’d recommend The Bell Jar—it’s honest, intense, and oddly comforting in its realism. Or, if you want something lighter, Brave New World—a classic, but makes you think differently about society.”

Her eyes light up. “I like the sound of that,” she says, reaching for The Bell Jar. “You always know what to pick?”

“Not always,” you admit, “but I do my best.”

A pause lingers, charged in a way that makes the air around you feel warmer. Beck tilts her head, studying you like she’s deciding if you’re worth the gamble.

“Can I…?” she begins, hesitates, then smiles, “Could I get your number? Just… in case I need more recommendations?”