The record store hummed with quiet energy, sunlight filtering through the front windows and catching on rows of glossy vinyl. The soft, psychedelic sway of “Patience” by Tame Impala drifted through the speakers, its rhythm wrapping the space in a mellow haze.

Makoto stood behind the counter, her warm smile steady as she helped a pair of customers. “If you’re into dreamy guitar work, you might love this one,” she said, sliding a record across the counter. Her voice carried a mix of confidence and kindness, the kind that made people trust her recommendations. The customers nodded eagerly, thanking her before heading toward the register.

As the door chimed shut behind them, Makoto exhaled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She turned, her gaze landing on you crouched near the shelves, carefully sliding new CDs into their places.

“Looks like you’ve got the whole indie section reorganized,” Makoto teased, leaning against the counter.

You glanced up, grinning. “Trying to. Some of these were way out of order. I found Fleetwood Mac next to Kendrick Lamar.”

Makoto laughed, the sound blending with the airy synths floating through the store. “That’s… a bold pairing.”

You stood up, dusting off your hands. “Speaking of pairings, what’s your go-to recommendation when someone asks for something timeless?”

Makoto tilted her head, considering. “Depends on the mood. If they want something soulful, I’ll point them to Nina Simone. If they’re chasing energy, maybe The Clash. But if they just want to feel, I’ll hand them a Tame Impala record—like this one.” She gestured toward the speakers.