Daydreamer

09 || beautiful stranger

I wrote this because the amount of strangers that I've seen, that make we daydream for hours after, are truly billions. You may be able to relate to seeing someone that you're drawn to and not knowing why, but this was inspired by someone I kept bumping into today in a bookshop. Feel free for constructive criticism in the comments because it would help a lot! :)

Beautiful Stranger

I was alone in the bookstore. The creaky floorboards and dusty shelves, just like any old stuffy shop full of books. I was trying to find a story. Something about lost valleys and butternut squash goblins, I thought to myself, tracing my finger along the book spines, across shelves and shelves as long as the walls, the titles blurring and merging into one. It was like a rainbow stream of taint and shiny, soft and tatty. I was coming around a corner when I stopped.

Above was a tiny hidden window. Where it sat, the sun perfectly lined with it so that rays of shimmering golden flittered through into the room. The beams glimmered and glistened like gates to heaven, they stretched out like hands grasped out desperately. I followed the line. And my eyes landed on a young man.

At first, he was half hidden in the gloom and shadows but as he inched gradually into the light, eyes boring into the book spines in front of him, I saw him clearer. He was quaint. He squinted through a pair of glasses, his eyelashes brushing softly against the lens. His tousle of light brown, curly hair, which he ran his fingers through in aggravation, shone with streaks of gold in the sunlight, and he had a barely noticeable stubble. He was strangely attractive and I couldn't put my finger on what exactly it was that made me stare.

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. I blushed instantly, pretending I was absorbed in finding my book too. However, my attention was elsewhere. In the corner of my eye, I watched as he looked a little longer, gaze lingering before turning back to his shelf. He was frowning slightly. I felt a tickle in my throat so I coughed, the sound booming loud, ringing through the paper, leather and wood against the walls. He froze. I was feeling terribly sheepish as I shuffled away, cowering my head down. The creak of wood from a few metres away indicated that he'd moved on. My hands were fidgety. 

I looked up and started roaming through the shop. It was quiet and deserted, the occasional low talk from the ground floor. I scanned the shelves on and on and on, eyes not daring to leave the safety of the author names bearing their success.
Oh, where could it be? I muttered under my breath as I went until I bashed into a warm solid form.

It was him. His glasses fell to the ground with a light thud as I gasped. Sheepishly, I tried to pick them up as he did which resulted in the proximity of our faces being barely a centimetre.

"Sorry," I mumbled, rubbing my arm awkwardly, about to turn and run away in shame when he looked into my eyes again. They were a shade of dilute green with a stormy grey that thundered in clouds of glorious mists. I stared again.

"No worries," he replied, his voice low and patient, like the sound of a tawny owl calling sonorously into the night, "they don't really have the capability of breaking."

He was smiling now, tittering as he placed them atop the bridge of his nose and continued to search. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. Strolling away, I dragged my feet as I bit my lip, mind in a nonsensical blether, fists clenched. I couldn't stay away, I was drawn to him like a moth to a light. Can't. Walk. Away, I thought.

Then I pivoted on my heel. Striding back, I tapped him on the shoulder, a piece of crumpled paper in my hand. He turned to me.

"I hate to be a nuisance, but you don't have any idea where I could find this book, do you?"

He looked at the paper, his hand rubbed the nape of his neck nervously, as he hummed in thought for a moment. Suddenly, he gazed back up at me in that devastating manner, making my knees buckle.

"I do actually. Come."

I followed him as he lead me along units of shelves and books and books and books.

"Should be around here," he said, tracing his finger through the air in front of the spines.

After a minute or so, he suddenly sighed, straightening up.

"I'm afraid it's not in here by the looks of it, but I know somewhere that might?"

I stuttered, head screaming tell him yes, tell him yes!

"W-where exactly?"

"(insert cute bookshop name like toadstool book heaven)"

I frowned, bemused.

"You know around the corner, up the street then right, down the market...."

I shook my head.

"Ah, look let me take you," he offered .

I took the offer gratefully as we made our way down the staircase, past the counter and out of the door. As we walked, he asked me if I knew (insert favourite ever book). Of course, I had answered and we conversed on and on as we walked through the streets until we made it to his bookshop. Our hands brushed as we reached for the door handle, our eyes locked again and I blushed. When I looked at him again, his cheeks were rosy too.

We went inside and he searched along shelves until he came across a clustered, heavily weighed down shelving unit filled with old, battered paper backs.

"There we have it!" He exclaimed, taking the book out, thumbing through to a random page, slipping a piece of card from his pocket sneakily, and handing it to me. As soon as it fell into my palms, I instantly wished it hadn't.

My eyes flickered up to him and I smiled, "thank you."

"Been a pleasure," he replied, the left of his lips curling into a smile.

My stomach was aching. I brushed my lips against his cheek, pecking his warm skin lightly, wishing, begging, dreaming of lingering just a little longer. I drew away, gaze sheepishly hitting the floor. We were silent for what seemed like hours, our breathing in unison. His voice broke the tension.

"I-" he stuttered, "I- can I kiss you?"

My breath hitched, caught in my throat in shock and surprise. I wanted to so badly.

"It is rather spontaneous thing to do or even ask," I said slowly, "b-but yes, you can."

He took no hesitation as his lips pressed firmly against mine lucidly and expressively. I placed my hands on his jaw, finger tips brushing his curly hair, the skin here was heating up under my touch. His hands joined mine as he caressed my knuckles with his thumb, the same swirling move as his lips on mine. He tasted like green tea.

I was the first to move away, meeting his eyes and beaming uncontrollably. He kissed my hands daintily, irresistible touch lingering on my skin.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For meeting me."

And he carefully placed my hands back to my sides, gazing at me a moment longer before turning and walking away.