Dreamers' Bookstore

It started with an addiction. His mother would call it a healthy obsession, his father would beat him up and tell him to get over it and do something manly and productive for once. Regardless of what others believed, he was addicted, ensnared by the different characters, held captive by the endless adventures. Books were his escape, books were his anchor, books were what gave meaning to his life. When the time came, at the age of 17, for him to choose his path, there was only one option for him. His father shouted, his mother cried, his friends questioned, but to him, it felt right. And thus started The Dreamers' Bookstore.

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Sixty-five years after its opening, the shop looked a lot different than it did at the beginning. Nestled between two skyscrapers in the heart of the city, the once-proud bookstore was barely visible among the commotion of bigger, brighter, newer shops. The sign hanging above the tiny door was in desperate need of a new coat of paint and the window display was packed full of different-colored books. As Charlotte pushed the door open and heard the familiar melody of the windchimes, she was hit with the intoxicating smell of books. Despite its size, the interior of the shop was in much better shape than its exterior. Bookcases lined every inch of the walls, floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with an incredible assortment of books from all over the world. And it wasn't just the walls; even the floor was filled with piles of books, creating a labyrinth visitors would get lost in. At the sound of the chimes, the old owner looked up from his crouched position near the back shelf.

"Lottie! Back again, I see. Did you like the book?"

The old man started getting up with difficulty as Lottie expertly navigated the book-hedged maze and helped him stand.

"A perfect recommendation, as always Mr. Lambert."

Mr. Lambert sighed, "Lottie, I've told you a million times, please just call me Richard. So, what can I do for you today?"

"I think I'll just browse, see if anything catches my attention."

"Alright, dear. Let me know if you need anything."

"Will do. Thank you, Mr... I mean Richard."

Lottie then turned to the endless collection of books with a smile, starting her quest to find her next great adventure. The 20-year-old had been coming to the bookstore every Tuesday for three years now, ever since she had stumbled upon it on a rainy morning. She had instantly fallen in love with the tiny shop; its smell, its feel, its general ambience, just made her feel at home in ways that even her own little apartment didn't. It also helped that the old owner was always there to share his input on a certain book, recommend a different one whenever she was looking for something specific, share a story when she wanted a chat, or just listen to her rant about her problems when no one else would listen. She usually felt a bit guilty after the latter, but Richard always reassured her that he enjoyed listening to her stories, and so she stopped apologizing for it, even if she still felt a bit embarrassed about it.

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Browsing through the books reminded Charlotte of that dull, rainy Tuesday morning, when she had first entered the bookshop in search of a place to wait-out the rain. Her long hair was sticking to her face, her damp clothes clinging to her body, weighing her down, as she entered through the door, relieved to find somewhere she would be dry if not warm. Richard had been surprised to see her; as he had told her later on, the bookshop had received very few visitors in the last few years. Despite his shock, the old man had greeted her with a smile and a hint of grandfatherly warmth.

"Oh dear, are you alright? What were you doing out in this weather?"

"I didn't think it would rain. The sky was so clear earlier. Could I stay here for a bit?"