heedless by romanshome

library shenanigans

"Habibti [Sweetie]!"

My lower lip was being chewed on by the top of my teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration—words flying over the pages to distract me from my real life problems. And what's another good way to do that than read? But I was ripped away from the wonderful world of Rose in Bloom when my father's voice boomed out a syllable in Arabic, making me lose my place. Untucking my chin from my chest, squeezed into the corner of the back bookshelf, I rolled my eyes with a huff.

"Yeah?" I shouted.
"Don't shout at me! Come here."

Grumbling, I uncurled my legs away from my body before kicking myself up onto the ground, shoving the book back into the shelf with a sigh. I was avoiding my feelings. Scorpius' words kept piercing into my brain, making my heavy heart sink into the bottom of my abdomen and melting into acid. And since I had nowhere to go, I decided to go back home. I didn't answer my father's question as to why I wasn't at the manor, and to keep me busy, I worked. But there was a cloud glooming over me.

I missed him. I really did.

And what's even more disheartening, is that he hasn't texted. Nor called. Not even visited. Every time I hear the bell ring from above the door, signaling someone had entered the shop—I perk up slightly. But when the voice is either too high end feminine, or too low and deep—my heart cracks a little more.

He wasn't coming.

I trudged over towards the front of the store, head hung low, as I spotted my father. Dressed in a bright orange vest—typical Arab thing—he was shoving the keys to the store into his pockets. Brows furrowed, I watched as he turned his head to look at me with his wide brown eyes, stubble covering his tightened jaw.

"I have to go pick up your sister. She shot a urm—" his face twisted, snapping his fingers as if it would recollect his memory. The wrinkles formed onto his features as his confused face blinked over at me. "What is that thing in the straw? A water balloon?"

His brow rose, but he didn't utter anything. Instead, he stared blankly at me—and I took it as my chance to speak up. Licking my dry lips, I drummed my fingers softly against the platform, eyes constantly averting away from his stormy ones.

"I apologize for our last encounter. For leaving abruptly—I mean," I murmer, sniffling a bit. "It was entirely rude to just—"

"It's not my business," he coldly muttered, pressing his lips together. "I'm looking for a book. My son threw a childish fit and ripped up one of my own. This is the only place that is open during the holiday."

I felt like it was my fault. Scorpius was probably angry and took it out on his father. Merlin. My brows snapped together.

"Urm—which one?" I swallowed. He blinked.
"The Odyssey."
My brows rose.

"Really? That's one of my favorites. I'm more into classics, really." His face slightly untensed, eyes holding a certain glint.
"You read Homer?"