I walk past the bookshelves and arrange the books of some regular celebrity who allegedly wrote her own memoirs. Corny and trivial, if I had my way, I would burn these books right now.

I turn around instinctively when I hear the bell ringing and the sound of the door opening. And I see it.

you.

You carry yourself like you're a goddess from an ancient Greek myth. your hair sparkles in the setting sun and it seems to me that it is more pleasant than Chinese silk. you look with burning eyes at the shelves with second-hand books and bite your lip. I'm almost holding back from going over and tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear.

and my heart skips a beat when I realize that you're looking at me.