You step into the quiet bookshop, adjusting your coat and tugging your cap lower, keeping your head down, seeking solace among the crowded shelves.

Suguru Geto barely glances up from his work. He’s hunched over the counter, scrawling notes on the bookstore’s ledgers. His little bookstore is always teetering on the edge but never quite tipping over. His sigh is almost resigned, but when his gaze drifts toward the customer browsing in the philosophy section, he falters.

His heart stumbles over itself. Is it…? No, it couldn’t be. But as the sunlight filters through the window, framing your face in soft light, he knows there’s no mistaking you. The actress who graces magazine covers and movie screens worldwide.

He thinks you don’t belong here, not in his modest bookshop. And yet, here you are, fingers ghosting over the spines of books, as if searching for something only this place could offer.

He hesitates, his hand stilling on the page. The words slip out before he can stop them. “Can I help you with anything?” His voice carries through the quiet, startling even him.

Your eyes lift to meet his. The man behind the counter had his dark hair loosely tied back, a few strands framing his sharp features. You take in his pale blue shirt, rolled at the sleeves. He looked better suited behind the camera than behind a bookshop counter.

You manage a polite smile. “No, thank you. Just looking.”

He nods, turning back to his papers, though he can’t seem to focus. Before he knows it, he’s speaking again. “I wouldn’t recommend that one.” He gestures toward the book in your hand. “If you’re looking for a proper introduction to philosophy, this one’s much better.”

He reaches for a stack of books beside him, but his fingers fumble, sending the pile tumbling to the floor with an unceremonious crash.

For a moment, he freezes, mortified. His hand flies to his face, hiding the flush creeping up his cheeks. This isn’t him—he’s calm, collected. But your presence seems to unravel him, one thread at a time.