The afternoon was slow.

  Sunlight filtered through the bookstore windows, warming the wooden floorboards. I was reorganizing a stack of returned novels near the entrance while the owner hummed behind the counter.

  Normal.

  Comfortable.

  The bell above the door rang.

  “Welcome,” I said automatically without looking up.

  Footsteps entered. Light. Unhurried.

  Something about them made my chest tighten before I understood why.

  I looked up.

  And everything inside me dropped.

  Akary.

  She stood a few steps inside the store, adjusting the strap of her school bag. Her hair was slightly longer than I remembered, tied loosely behind her head. She looked healthy. Tired, maybe. But alive.

  She did not freeze.

  She did not whisper my name.

  She did not look at me like I had once been her entire world.

  She simply walked to the counter.

  “I’m looking for this textbook,” she said, showing her phone to the owner.

  Her voice was steady.

  Normal.

  The owner glanced toward me. “Miro, can you check the back shelf?”

  My body moved before my mind did.

  Each step felt heavier than it should have. I retrieved the book and returned.

  When I handed it to her, our fingers brushed.

  Just barely.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  She paused.

  Only for a second.

  Then she looked at me more carefully.

  “If I’m not mistaken… you’re a classmate, right?”

  Classmate.

  The word echoed in my head.

  “Yeah,” I replied evenly. “Same year.”

  She nodded slowly.

  “I thought so. I’ve seen you around.”

  Seen me around.

  That was all I was to her.

  Just someone from the background of her life.

  But her eyes lingered on mine a little longer than necessary. There was confusion there. A small crease between her brows, like she was trying to place something she could not name.

  “Thanks,” she said softly after paying.

  Then she turned and left.

  The bell rang again.

  And the space she left behind felt colder.

  I stood there longer than I should have.

  Later, when my shift ended, I stepped outside.

  Across the street, she stood still.

  Not walking.

  Not checking her phone.

  Just standing there like she had forgotten something.

  Then she glanced back at the bookstore.

  At me.

  Her expression shifted, uncertain, almost unsettled.

  She shook her head and walked away.

  I did not call her name.

  This time, I did not trust my voice.

  She did not understand why her heart felt unsettled.

  He was just a classmate.

  Quiet. Polite. Someone she had probably passed in hallways dozens of times.

  So why did it feel like something had shifted when their fingers touched?

  She arrived at the café and tied her apron in silence.

  The smell of coffee beans and steamed milk filled the air. It was familiar. Grounding. She focused on taking orders, wiping tables, carrying trays.

  She needed the money.

  Rent was not forgiving.

  Her apartment was small, barely big enough for a bed, desk, and a narrow kitchenette. The wallpaper near the window had started to peel, and the radiator made strange sounds at night. But it was hers.

  Or at least, it was what she could afford.

  She did not remember her parents.

  Not their faces.

  Not their voices.

  Not even their names.

  Sometimes she tried to think back, to reach for something, but there was only fog. So she assumed they had abandoned her when she was young. It was the simplest explanation. The one that hurt the least if she did not think about it too long.

  By the time her shift ended, her shoulders ached.

  She walked home slowly, lost in thought.

  Miro.

  Why did his name stay in her head?

  She unlocked her apartment and stepped inside.

  Quiet.

  Too quiet.

  She leaned back against the door and exhaled.

  There was no memory attached to him. No forgotten events. No strange visions.

  Just a feeling.

  Like she had missed something important.

  Like she had once had a conversation that mattered deeply and could not remember the topic.

  She changed into comfortable clothes and sat at her desk to study.

  The words on the page blurred.

  Her mind drifted back to the bookstore.

  The way he looked at her.

  There had been no awkwardness. No desperation.

  Just something steady.

  Heavy.

  Like he carried more than he let on.

  “Why did it feel like that?” she murmured quietly.

  Attraction did not make sense.

  She barely knew him.

  But when he stood close to her, something inside her felt calm.

  And that frightened her more than anything.

  Because calm was not something she felt often.

  She shook her head and forced herself back to studying.

  He was just a classmate.

  Nothing more.

  And yet, for reasons she could not explain, she hoped she would see him again tomorrow.