THE book sits yawning on the windowsill. Mahra stares through the ice-misted glass into the snowy wonderland that is Cambridge. In this flurry, no one is too keen on going outside, so the bookshop for a while is empty. Silent. Just her and the company of books.
The doorbell tinkles.
Mahra jolts to her feet. Rushes to the counter.
Callum's ice-soaked figure steps into the shop. His boots squelch on the floorboards, squeezing out small puddles.
Her heart raps against her ribcage, an unfamiliar, unwelcomed feeling. Annoyance burst within her chest.
She opens her mouth.
"Before you ask what I'm doing here," Callum cuts her swiftly, "Mrs Jones asked me to deliver her message to you." He shrugs off his coat and drapes it on the coat rack. "She suddenly has to visit her son in Leeds for a couple of days. But she has a mass of books to deliver."
"How do you know that?"
"Have you forgotten already?" The corners of his eyes crinkle with contained laughter. "I'm her neighbour."
Mahra silently berates herself for having misremembered. "Okay, then. Just give me the books' titles, the addresses of where I should send them, and you can be off."
Callum gives her an amused look. "You think I'll let you do that by yourself?"
Mahra bristles. "I can handle my job just perfectly."
"It's nearly the end of the semester. Exams are coming up. You need to get yourself prepared."
Her lips purse into a thin line. The list is in his hands, and she isn't about to procure it by arguing. Dropping to her knees, Mahra pulls out a cardboard box from under the counter, plucks a sharpie from the desk, uncaps it and scribbles "shipment to" on the top of the box.
Callum sits cross-legged on the floor beside her, slips out a piece of paper from his trousers' front pocket. Unfolds it into an A4-sized paper densely scrawled on both sides. Numbers and street names coagulate in a dizzying, labyrinthine forest of words.
Her eyes widen. "That many?"
A lop-sided, boyish smile falls across his face. He says, "Told you so."
Mahra shakes her head, fighting off a smile of her own.
YOU ARE READING
THE DREAMER'S LAMENT
Short StoryIn the hearts of dreamers, lament will always linger. Sadness can bloom into the brightest, lambent shades, like the rain giving way to the phantom of a rainbow, like the promise of hope. But sorrow may also wind down a darker, colder path. Our hear...
