𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 | g. w

53. you were a kindness when i was a stranger

The days move at a languid pace, each one similar to the last. I've made a home in the book cafe, visiting more often than not, perhaps so much that it has everyone in my life (ie. the two 73-year old cafe-owners) worrying for my sanity, and though my life would seem pretty bland to the average person, I find I rather enjoy it.

I've made a routine for myself, one where I know what to expect of every day and don't have to worry about staying alive.

It's nice. Normal. And I think it's what I've been needing.

I've not spoken to George since the day after he left the bed we'd been sharing the night before, and though I miss him so much I can't even think straight most days, I don't actively seek him out anymore. He wanted distance, after all, and I can't be the person who disrespects that. It doesn't matter how certain I am of our ending.

"Excuse me miss. Do you by any chance have "The Picture of Dorian Gray" by Oscar Wild?"

Looking up from being engulfed in the story of Dostoevsky's "Crime and Punishment", I notice a man not much older than myself.

"Sorry, I think we're currently out of stock for 'The Picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde," I reply, glancing up at the man who has interrupted my literary immersion. His appearance is striking, with deep, thoughtful eyes  and a smile that instantly intrigues me.

"Ah, that's a shame," he murmurs, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. "It's been on my reading list for a while now."

"If you don't mind a digital copy, I could recommend a few online resources where you might find it," I offer, sliding a piece of paper toward him with a list of websites and book platforms.

He smiles appreciatively, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Thank you, that would be great." He glances down at the list of websites I've provided, his eyes tracing the URLs. "These will be perfect. I truly appreciate your help."

"It's my pleasure. Always happy to assist a fellow book lover," I reply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The cafe feels comfortable, almost cocoon-like, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint aroma of aged books.

With a gentle nod, he returns the list, his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he speaks again. "I couldn't help but notice your admiration for 'Crime and Punishment.' What fascinates you most about Dostoevsky's masterpiece?"

As he leans in, genuinely interested, I find myself drawn into a dialogue about the complexities of human nature, the moral dilemmas portrayed in the novel, and the profound exploration of guilt and redemption. Our conversation flows effortlessly, weaving through the intricate layers of the story and the philosophical depths it plumbed.

With each word exchanged, it feels as if we're peeling back the layers of our souls, unraveling thoughts and emotions that often remain unspoken. There is an unspoken connection, an uncharted understanding that seems to transcend the boundaries of casual conversation.

The hours slips by unnoticed, the bookshelves around us casting elongated shadows as the sun begins its slow descent. In the midst of our discussion, the mundane world outside seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us wrapped in the cocoon of literary musings and shared passions.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, the stagnant routine I have grown accustomed to suddenly feels alive with the possibility of something new and exhilarating. Al though the possibility itself feels daunting, it fills me with excitement all the same. As he bids me a warm farewell, letting me know his name is Dorian — just like the book he came here searching for — he promises to return for further discussions on literature. A strange flicker of anticipation kindles within me, hinting at the prospect of an unexpected chapter unfolding in the tranquil setting of my familiar book cafe.