Life in the mundane

Today

The bookstore was quiet, the kind of quiet that absorbs every footstep and breath, yet amplifying them in the stillness. The smell of new paperbacks mixed with the soft floral perfume from the assistant. I leaned against the shelf, thumbing through a copy of a novel i'd never read and probably never would.
I glanced at the door every few minutes, waiting. I didn't know her name, just the way she made the air crackle when she walked in, like static electricity on a dry day. She came in every Wednesday, late afternoon, browsed for an hour or so, and left without buying anything.

I mostly pretended to read, my eyes following her more than the words on the page in front of me. She moved like poetry, deliberate, with meaning in her every step. Her fingers danced over the spines of the books, her eyes scanning titles from behind her glasses, but I always wondered if she was looking for something more, or maybe someone.

I tried to imagined her life outside the bookstore, a job she tolerated but was very good at it, a pile of books that slept at the side of her bed, and a heart that hadn't quite healed. It was the bookstore that brought us together, week after week, bound by a shared loneliness we never spoke of.

Today, she was late. I felt the minutes stretch out, like a sentence without a set term, each one a small eternity. I wondered if she would come at all, if maybe she had found another place to seek solace, or worse, someone who could offer her more than a silent companionship among the pages.

I sighed, and placed the book back on the shelf. Maybe today would be the day I'd speak to her, say something that could break the fragile glass wall between us. Or maybe I would just keep waiting, letting the hope of her presence fill the empty spaces in my life.

The old bell above the door jingled, and there she was, her auburn hair slightly tousled by the wind, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced around. She saw me, gave a nod that was almost a greeting, and I smiled back, my heart doing a foolish little dance uncontrollably .

I watched as she moved to her usual spot, picking up a book she had examined countless times before. I took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of paper and possibility, and walked towards her.

Today
I choose that
I would wait no more.