Bookstores were always your happy place.

For one, they normally smelled amazing. Another, they were quiet, you were able to browse for hours and tuck yourself into excerpts of stories you looked through. It was where you felt safe and secure. Like many other of your free days, you’re spending one at your local bookstore, picking up books here and there. You’ve picked up “The Route of Linguistics” by Alex Blake, given you’d always been interested in language.

“That’s a good one.” A voice behind you says. You turn around curiously, book in hand. The woman standing in front of you looks so familiar––a kind of familiarity you can’t place until you look back down at the book. She’s the author.