Chapter Six: Something Missing
The shop was quieter that week.
Not empty — just… lighter. Like something was waiting to be noticed.
You talked less, moved slower.
Still smiled, still laughed. But your eyes didn’t land in the same places.
And one afternoon, after shelving a new box of returns, you stood at the center of the shop and said,
“I think I’ve forgotten something important.”
I looked up from the counter. “Like… book-related?”
“No,” you said. “Like… heart-related.”
You didn’t look at me when you said it.
Just started dusting a shelf that didn’t need dusting.
So I crossed the room.
Took the cloth from your hand and set it down.
Then said softly,
“Maybe you didn’t forget it. Maybe you’re just starting to remember.”
You stared at me, and the air between us felt electric, not with want —
But with recognition.
Of something familiar.
Something returning.
Someone.