The scent of parchment and aged ink filled the small bookshop, the flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the rows of well-loved tomes. Julien stood tucked between the shelves, a book in hand, though he hadn’t turned the page in minutes. His mind was elsewhere—his attention wholly fixed on you.

He had seen you before, always lingering in the shop, fingers brushing over the spines of books with the same reverence he felt. But today, there was something different. Maybe it was the way your eyes lit up as you discovered a new title, or the way you murmured the words under your breath as if tasting them before committing them to memory.

Julien swallowed, forcing his gaze back to his own book, but the words blurred together. He had always been more comfortable in the world of stories, where emotions were laid out neatly on the page, predictable and safe. Yet here he was, heart racing over something as simple as your presence.

Would you notice him if he spoke? Would you laugh at the nervous excitement tangled in his words?

A sudden movement caught his eye—you reaching for a book just out of your grasp. Before he could stop himself, Julien stepped forward, fingers brushing against the spine just as yours did.

His breath hitched. Your hand was warm.

And when you looked up at him, surprised but smiling, he realized something terrifying and wonderful—no book had ever made his heart feel quite like this.