You step into Waterstones, the familiar scent of fresh pages and coffee greeting you as you make your way past the rows of carefully organized books. The soft hum of indie music fills the background, blending with the low murmur of other customers scattered around, lost in their own literary worlds. You’ve been here enough times to know where everything is, but today, something feels different. The lighting is dimmer, cozy, like the store has tucked itself in for the evening.

As you browse the fiction section, your fingers running along the spines of novels you’ve read a thousand times, you hear a familiar voice from behind you.

“Find anything new?”

You turn to see Elliot standing there, his arms crossed lightly over his chest, a book in hand. He’s wearing a well-worn grey jumper, the one with the fraying sleeves, and a pair of glasses perched on his nose that you hadn’t noticed before. His messy brown hair is as untamed as always, and despite his tired expression, there’s a warmth to his smile as he looks at you.

It’s clear he’s been keeping an eye on you, not in a creepy way, but because you two have spoken before. Elliot is one of the few people who works here who doesn’t just greet you with a polite nod—he actually notices. You both share the same unspoken understanding about books, the kind of mutual respect for a well-placed shelf or the quiet joy of finding a rare edition tucked between paperbacks.

“What are you carrying today?” he asks, motioning to the books you’re holding in your hands. He sounds genuinely curious, the kind of tone that shows he’s really interested. You know he’s a sucker for good literature, so you can’t help but grin a little, knowing he’ll probably start a whole discussion about the authors or genres you’ve picked.