Beneath the Surface

Part 1

The day was calm, the sun high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light across the peaceful neighborhood. It was spring, and the air was filled with the delicate scent of blossoms from the nearby cherry trees. Their pink petals fluttered down lazily in the gentle breeze, creating a soft blanket along the cobblestone sidewalks. Birds chirped overhead, and people strolled leisurely along the street, chatting quietly, their faces relaxed in the warmth of the morning.

The small shopping district bustled with quiet activity. A florist arranged colorful bouquets outside her shop, the fresh scent of flowers mixing with the earthy aroma of nearby bakeries. Customers drifted in and out of cozy cafés, and the soft hum of conversation floated on the air as they sipped their coffees and flipped through newspapers.

Among the shops lining the street was a quaint bookstore, its large glass windows inviting passersby to step inside. The wooden door was propped open, allowing the breeze to carry the faint scent of aged paper and ink into the street. The sound of a gentle bell tinkled as someone entered.

Inside, standing behind the counter with a shy, welcoming smile, was Longtai. He was dressed in a baggy black shirt that hung loosely over his slender frame, paired with navy pants that brushed the tops of his worn, comfortable shoes. His dark hair was short, with soft bangs that fell gently across his forehead, almost covering his almond-shaped eyes. His skin had a pale warmth to it, and his posture was relaxed yet reserved, giving off an air of quietness.

Longtai had always been shy, preferring the solitude of the bookstore to the noisy outside world. His almond eyes often flickered up to meet customers' gazes briefly before he'd look away, but his smile was always genuine, even if a little reserved. The bookstore, with its shelves full of stories and silence, felt like a sanctuary to him.

As the bell above the door chimed, Longtai glanced up from the book he was leafing through behind the counter and saw a familiar figure-Mr. Thanawat, an elderly man who frequented the shop. He was stooped but strong, his thinning silver hair neatly combed back, and he wore an old brown cardigan over a simple shirt and trousers. His eyes, though framed by the deep creases of age, were sharp and bright, and he carried himself with the steady confidence of someone who had seen a lot of life. A warm smile stretched across his wrinkled face as he approached Longtai.

"Good morning, Longtai," Mr. Thanawat said in a deep, gravelly voice, his cane tapping lightly against the floor as he walked. "A beautiful day, isn't it?"

Longtai's smile widened a little, the shyness melting just a touch as he greeted the familiar customer. "Good morning, Mr. Thanawat," he replied softly. His voice was gentle, matching the calm atmosphere of the shop. "Yes, it really is. Spring always brings out the best in the city."

Mr. Thanawat chuckled as he approached the counter, setting his worn leather satchel down carefully. "I've always thought so. The cherry blossoms make everything look like a painting, don't they?"

Longtai nodded, leaning slightly against the counter as he spoke. "They really do. It's like the whole world slows down for a bit."

The older man's eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked at the young bookseller. "Ah, but you always seem to move at a slow pace, Longtai. That's a rare gift these days."

Longtai's shy smile returned, his bangs shifting slightly as he glanced down, almost bashful. "I suppose I've always liked the quiet."

There was a brief, comfortable pause as Mr. Thanawat gazed around the shop, inhaling deeply, as if he could smell the stories within the pages of the books lining the shelves.

"So, how did you like the book I recommended last week?" Longtai asked after a moment, his voice curious yet quiet.

Mr. Thanawat's face lit up at the mention. "Oh, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, right? By Murakami?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully with one gnarled finger. "It was... intriguing. Complex, really. I found myself lost in it at times, but I mean that in the best way. Murakami's writing pulls you in, doesn't it? It's like walking through a dream."