1.1 You

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To the memory of my
lovely Dandelion,
best fluffy buddy ever,
and my partner in crime.

I see you for the first time on a Friday evening.

That smell. It's everywhere. The smell of new books. Even the scents of the coffee shop next door don't seem to be able to beat it.

Books. So many books. The shelves are filled with them from top to bottom.

And behind a small counter - you. A light T-shirt. Walnut-colored uniform apron. Dark hair, combed back in soft waves. A very slim, well-built body, but your plump cheeks stand out on your nice face — I would like to squeeze them. A beautiful boy, in the very blooming of his youth. No more than eighteen or twenty years old.

And everything would be fine, but something troubles me. Customers ask questions, you smile, but... you don't answer. Not with your voice, actually. Instead, you rip a piece of paper out of your notebook and write your answer there.

God... You are mute...

Also, I can't figure it out yet, but something makes your customers smile... and blush in embarrassment. Then turn around and say goodbye to you again to thank you.

I'm trying to imagine what your voice might be like. I'm sure it would be like a sound of newborn Spring.

My turn. I have finally found what I was looking for. You glance at the cover with a smile. I pay with a card, you give me a check and ... stick a small piece of paper on the cover, where you write something quickly with a pencil. Apparently, you're afraid that the ink from the pen may be imprinted on the book. Then you hand it to me. And I, probably like a fool, clung to the edges of the book, standing near the counter and staring at your blushing cheeks.

A pretty girl from behind applies to me.

"Excuse me, Phi, are you going to take anything else? I have a baby waiting for me at home."

I immediately come back to earth, apologize and go away. Then, being already outside, I read the note on the sticker.

"I love this book too.

PS: Smile more often, please.

It suits you so much."

And it seems to me that I have already reread this note on the book for countless times… And how I would like not to read, but to hear these words, but ... alas.

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