The place smelled like parchment and ink, old spines and fresh stories. The scent of a thousand lives bound in paper.
Arin stepped inside, his gaze scanning the aisles. The bookstore was not small, yet somehow, he found her instantly.
She was sitting on the floor between shelves, a tower of books stacked beside her, another open in her hands.
Her glasses had slid to the edge of her nose. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands falling over her face. She didn’t bother pushing them away as she flipped a page, completely absorbed.
There was something so unfiltered, so unguarded about her like this.
For a woman who kept her walls high, this was a rare moment of vulnerability. Not the dramatic kind. But the simple kind—the kind that showed what she truly loved, what made her heart feel at home.
He hadn’t meant to say anything. But the words slipped out before he could stop them.
“How many are you taking home?”
Astha blinked, looking up, startled. For a moment, she simply stared, as if trying to process the fact that he was here, standing in her sacred space.
Then her eyes narrowed.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”The lie came effortlessly.
She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You just happened to wander into a bookstore?”
Arin shrugged, his gaze shifting to the pile beside her. “You just happened to buy half the store?”
Astha huffed. “It’s not half. It’s—” She paused, counting. Then sighed. “Fine. It’s a problem.”
Shanaya, who had just returned from another aisle, grinned like she had won a bet.
“Told you, boss man. She’s a book dragon.”
Arin smirked. “I see that.”
Astha ignored both of them and turned back to her books. “Mock all you want, but these are coming home with me.”
Arin crouched beside her, picking up one of the books from the pile. “History of Lost Cities?”
“Sounds interesting, doesn’t it?”
“A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”
Astha glanced at him, her lips twitching. “I do tend to be drawn to things that disappear.”
There was a weight in those words. Something unsaid. Something felt.
For a moment, Arin just looked at her. At the way she cradled books like something precious. At the way her fingers brushed over pages like she was memorizing them.
He realized, with quiet certainty, that she was exactly the kind of person who would fall in love with words before people.
And suddenly, he didn’t mind that at all.
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