The Bookstore Journal

The only good thing about winter is the leaves that fell. I could now see her house across the street from my window. At night, I stare at the way the lights in her room go on and off, wondering whether she would be here till spring. I hope she stays. I hope she will be here till the weather is fine.

I never found the right words for her. I never knew what to say. l was a naive person who didn't know to comfort. So when she cries, I bring her a cup of hot coffee and sit near her with a book, pretending to read. Rather than saying the wrong things, I decided to stay in silence beside her, hoping that would console her.

Maybe they do. Maybe they don't. But that's the best a fool like me could do.

I always reply to her why with things that didn't make much sense. I found excuses to walk her home, buy her boots, to make her feel at home. Because it's dark, I will walk you home. Because it's the countryside, wear these boots. Because it's cold, have this coffee and go. Because it's...

But I never told her how I feel, because I was afraid that happiness would leave just like it did before. All of it, in the blink of an eye.

I like how the bookstore smells like her in the evening. I like how each part of it has been occupied by her for some part of the day. I like how she listens so attentively and looks at me with eyes full of questions. I love how she smiles, nods her head and naturally joins the conversation. Nowadays, I pay more attention to the books I share in book club meetings. What if the books tell her about the person I am?

 I wonder if she thinks about the person who brings in each book. I wonder if she cares.

In the night, when secrets flow, I share mine with you all. May you all have a Good Night. May she have a good night too. Sleep Well, everyone.