The bell above the door chimed. And something about it felt…different.
I didn't look up immediately. I rarely did. Most people came into Ashton Park, noticed the shelves, the music, the quiet and never once looked at me. That part was almost comforting.
If people didn't see you, they didn't ask questions. If they didn't ask questions, they didn't get close. And if they didn't get close, nothing changed. I learned that early. Staying quiet, and staying out of the way.
"My name is Selena Michaels," I'd say when I had to. Not that it mattered much.
Names only mean something when someone plans to remember you.
I adjusted the stack of books in front of me, aligning the edges for the third time in five minutes. There was nothing wrong with them. There never was. It just gave my hands something to do.
The afternoon was slow. It usually was. A couple sat in the corner pretending to read but whispering instead. An older man flipped through the same page for ten minutes straight. The world outside kept moving, but in here everything slowed down. That was why I liked it.
No expectations.
No noise.
No one looking too closely.
It was easier that way for them and for me. But something about the shift in the room made me glance up anyway.
And that was when I saw him.
He didn't belong here. It wasn't just the suit though that was the first thing you noticed. Clean lines, perfectly fitted, like it had never known a crease. The kind of clothing that made everything else in the room feel ordinary.
It was the way he carried himself. Like he was used to walking into places and owning them. But here he didn't. He paused just inside the door, his gaze moving slowly across the shelves, like he wasn't sure what he was looking for. Or maybe he was. And hadn't found it yet.
I looked away quickly, dropping my attention back to the books in front of me. People like him didn't come here for people like me. That much, I knew.
Still
I heard his footsteps. Slow, measured. Coming closer. I kept my hands busy, pretending to fix what didn't need fixing.
"Can I help you find something?"
My voice came out steady, neutral, Practiced There was a brief silence. Long enough that I almost looked up again.
"Maybe."
I did look up then. He was closer now. Close enough that I could see the details I hadn't noticed before. Not just the suits , not just the watch.
His eyes.
There was something in them. Not cold, not distant
Just… tired. Like he'd been carrying something heavy for too long and hadn't figured out how to put it down.
"My friend told me to come here," he said.
His voice was calm, low and Controlled. Like everything else about him.
"Your friend has good taste," I replied.
A faint shift in his expression. Not quite a smile, but close.
"I'm starting to think so."
I nodded toward the shelves.
"What kind of book are you looking for?"
He glanced around again, slower this time.
"Something to distract me."
I studied him for a second.
"From work?"
"No."
The answer came too quickly. That told me enough. I reached for a book beside me without overthinking it and held it out.
"Then not business," I said. "Not self-help either."
He took it from me, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest second. It shouldn't have meant anything. It didn't. But I noticed it anyway. He glanced down at the cover, then back at me.
"Fiction?"
"Not just fiction," I said. "Escape."
He turned the book over slowly, like he was actually considering it.
"Is it good?"
I hesitated. Not because I didn't know the answer. Because I did.
"It depends," I said finally.
"On what?"
"On whether you're willing to let it."
His gaze shifted, sharpening just slightly.
"Let it what?"
"Take you somewhere else," I said. "Even if it's just for a while."
He held my gaze this time, really held it. Not like people usually did quick, distracted, already thinking about something else. This was different.
Focused.
Intentional.
"Sounds like you've needed that before."
I let out a quiet breath.
"Everyone does at some point."
He didn't argue with that, didn't nod either. Just looked at the book again. Then back at me.
"Did it work?"
There was something in the way he asked that made the question feel less casual. More personal. I shouldn't have answered honestly. I usually didn't, but for some reason I did.
"It helped," I said. "When I needed it to."
That was enough. It should have been enough. But he kept looking at me like there was more to it. Like he could see past what I said and into what I didn't. It made something in my chest tighten slightly. I wasn't used to that. People didn't usually look that closely. He exhaled quietly, almost like he'd made a decision.
"Alright," he said. "I'll take it."
I nodded, reaching for the register. As I rang it up, I could still feel his presence there—steady, unmoving, like he wasn't in a hurry to leave. Most people were.
"You trust strangers easily?" he asked suddenly, I glanced up.
"No."
"Then why this?"
I handed him the receipt.
"Because you didn't ask for something easy."
That seemed to catch him off guard. Just for a second. Then a faint smile, real this time.
"Fair enough."
He picked up the book, turning it slightly in his hand. He he looked at me again. And said quietly, but clearly
"Then I suppose I should trust the girl who made it sound worth surviving."
Something in my chest shifted. Small. Unexpected. And before I could figure out what it was he turned and walked out. The bell chimed again. And just like that. The bookstore felt different.