The bookkeeper

Chapter 1: The Tired Worker

The old bookshop had been a fixture in the neighborhood for as long as anyone could remember. People spoke of it in whispers, not because it was grand or imposing, but because of the quiet mysteries it held. The woman who ran it was just as much a mystery. Some claimed she had arrived in the U.S. in the 1990s, though others insisted she had been there much longer, as if she had always been a part of the place, like the worn cobblestones outside her door.

When you step inside, the scent of old paper and spices greets you, mixing with a sense of nostalgia that you can't quite place. The bookshop, though small and slightly worn-down, houses a surprising collection of literature from every genre imaginable. It's not what you'd expect from a dusty little place tucked away on a quiet street. Sometimes, as you wander the narrow aisles, you could swear the titles of the books shift when you aren't looking, though it's hard to be sure.

The woman behind the counter is as ordinary as the shop is unusual. She wears her hair in braids and always smells faintly of warm chai and henna. But the strangest part? The books are astonishingly cheap, rarely costing more than five dollars. Maybe that's why the shop looks so run-down—she really should charge more for her books. Yet, she doesn't seem to mind, content behind the counter in her cozy chair, as if she knows something the rest of the world doesn't.

Wait. How did I get here? Sure, I had a horrible day at work, but I couldn't have been that out of it, right? Your phone dings, but you silence it, not wanting to deal with anything else right now.

"Hello," the woman greets you.

You're startled. "H-Hi."

"Find anything you like?" she asks.

"Umm, no, I'm not here to buy a book."

"Well, you do realize you're in a bookshop, right?"

"I—yeah, I know. It's just been a long day. Can you tell me where the nearest bus stop is?"

"Of course. Turn left at the corner of this street."

As you turn to leave, she gently taps your wrist. "We're having a special sale. Why don't you take a look?"

You glance in the direction she's pointing. A small bookshelf stands in the corner with a sign that reads, "Make a wish, take a book."

Your phone dings again. You glance at it and sigh—it's another notification. Apparently, some idiot at the hellhole you call work thought it would be funny to edit your face onto a video on an adult website. Now the whole office is laughing at your expense. HR says they'll find out who did it, but in what, a year? It won't matter by then. Once something's on the internet, it's there forever. You've cried enough about it; now you just feel numb.

You look back at the sign: Make a wish, take a book.

What the hell? It's not like I have anything better to do. I wish all of this—this situation, this video—would just disappear. You grab the first book you see. It costs two dollars. You bring it to the counter and pay for it. 

Before you leave, the woman behind the counter smiles and says, "Don't worry, things will get better."

Weird, but then again, she probably says that to all her customers, or maybe she saw your worry in your tired face. As you wait at the bus stop, a worn-down spot like the bookshop, you check your phone. A mother with her toddler and two teenagers are the only other people waiting with you. Your phone dings, and you open an email from HR—what?!

They caught the guy who did it? You try to look up the video, but it's gone. You go to another website and another, but nope, it's completely wiped from the internet. How is that even possible?

"You got a book from the bookkeeper, didn't you?" says the kid next to you.

"Huh?" you respond, startled.

"Don't worry," the kid says with a knowing smile. "She always helps people who need it."

You stare at the kid, confused, but before you can ask anything else, the bus arrives. You board it, still holding the book in your hand. As the bus pulls away, you replay the events in your mind. The odd bookshop, the mysterious woman, the sudden resolution to your problem—it's too much to be just a coincidence.

As the bus winds through the city streets, you can't shake the feeling that there's more to that woman than meets the eye. The world outside seems different, as if the edges of reality have softened, and you're seeing it all through a new lens.

When you finally reach your stop, you step off the bus, still holding the book. It feels light in your hand, but the weight of what's just happened presses on your mind. Could it really be true? Did she somehow make your wish come true?

You make your way home, the day's events swirling in your thoughts. The woman's words echo in your mind: "Don't worry, things will get better."

As you reach your apartment, you place the book on the coffee table and sit down, lost in thought. You could dismiss it all as a strange series of coincidences, but something inside you knows better. 

A thought crosses your mind—what if you go back? What if you could make another wish? But as quickly as the idea comes, a sense of caution follows. Wishes can be powerful, and power always comes with a price.

You glance at the book on the table. It's just a simple book, yet it represents something far more complex, something beyond your understanding. For now, you decide to leave it be. 

Maybe one day you'll return to that little bookshop. Maybe one day, you'll make another wish. But for now, you're content to let the mystery remain, a quiet secret tucked away in the corner of your mind.

And somewhere, in that dusty, old bookshop, the bookkeeper smiles, knowing that she's done her job once again.