The next few days passed in a blur of routine for Raine. Customers came and went, the scent of fresh coffee mingling with the comforting aroma of old books. But despite the usual rhythm of her bookstore, she found her mind drifting back to the woman with the guitar.
She hadn't given a name. She hadn't said much at all, really. And yet, there was something about her that lingered—something quiet, something unresolved.
Raine had convinced herself that it was a chance encounter, nothing more. But when the bell above the door chimed one late afternoon, she looked up instinctively, heart stuttering for a beat.
And there she was.
The same dark jacket, the same cautious presence, as if she didn't quite belong anywhere. She didn't step in fully this time, just hovered near the entrance, gaze flickering across the space as if debating whether to stay.
Raine set her book down. "Welcome back."
The woman's eyes met hers, unreadable. For a moment, she looked as though she might turn and leave. But then, after what felt like an eternity, she stepped inside.
Raine took that as a victory.
She didn't approach this time. Instead, she let the woman navigate the space on her own terms. She watched as she drifted toward the fiction shelves, trailing her fingers lightly along the spines of the books. She wasn't aimless—she moved with a certain deliberateness, scanning the titles as if looking for something specific.
Minutes passed in silence. Then, finally, the woman pulled a book from the shelf.
Raine smiled. "Good choice."
The woman glanced at her. "You've read it?"
"I own a bookstore," Raine said, amused. "I've read everything in here."
The woman considered that, then looked down at the book in her hands. "It's been a while since I picked one up."
Raine hesitated. "Why?"
A pause. Then, quietly, "Didn't seem like there was a point."
Something in her tone made Raine's chest tighten. She wanted to ask, but she also didn't want to push.
So instead, she gestured to the café area. "I make a mean cup of tea if you want to sit and read for a while."
The woman hesitated again. She was always hesitating, as if she didn't quite trust the world around her. But after a moment, she nodded. "Alright."
Raine tried not to let her smile grow too triumphant.
She made the tea—earl grey with a touch of honey—and set it on the table in front of her newest and most mysterious customer. The woman didn't say thank you, but she did take the cup, holding it between her hands as if savoring the warmth.
They sat in silence after that. Raine went back behind the counter, pretending to focus on her book while stealing glances at her guest.
The woman read slowly, her fingers tracing the edges of the pages, her eyes distant. She seemed lost in the words, but not in the way most people got lost in books. It was as if she was searching for something within them—something she wasn't sure she'd ever find.
Minutes turned to hours. Customers came and went. But the woman remained.
Eventually, as the sky outside darkened, she closed the book and set it aside.
Raine looked up. "Did you like it?"
The woman was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally, she said, "It was… familiar."
Something about the way she said it made Raine's stomach twist. Before she could ask what she meant, the woman stood. She reached for her guitar case, slinging it over her shoulder like she had the last time.
Raine tried to ignore the pang of disappointment.
"Will I see you again?" she asked before she could stop herself.
The woman didn't answer right away. But as she walked to the door, she hesitated, fingers lingering on the handle.
Then, without looking back, she murmured, "Maybe."
And with that, she was gone.
Raine sat there long after the door closed, staring at the empty chair, at the book left behind.
She didn't know what it was about this woman that drew her in. But she knew one thing for certain.
"Maybe" wasn't enough.
She wanted to know her name.
She wanted to know her.
And somehow, she was going to make that happen.