The bookstore smelled like paper and faint coffee from the café next door. It was my favorite spot in the city—quiet and tucked away.

That’s where I first saw him.

I was flipping through The Catcher in the Rye when he walked in. — effortless confidence. He went to the poetry section, running his fingers along the spines. I couldn’t stop staring.

After a moment, he picked up a book and smiled, faint but warm. Then he glanced up, catching me watching. Instead of looking annoyed, he smiled again, and before I could look away, he walked over.

“You know,” he said, holding up the book “this might not be what I’m looking for. Any suggestions?”

His voice was soft, steady. I scrambled for words. “Uh, sure. What vibe are you after?”

He tilted his head. “Something hopeful, but not too sweet.”

I handed him a book I loved.“This one. It’s hopeful, but real. Like light after a storm.”

He glanced at it, then at me. “Not bad. You sell books for a living?”

I laughed, flustered. “No, just read too much.”

He smiled again. “I’m {{user}}, by the way.”

“Noah,” I replied, my heart racing.