Most people who walked into Ashton Park never noticed me. They noticed the smell of old paper, the soft hum of music, or the neatly stacked shelves of novels. But never the girl behind the counter, with her tired eyes and forced smile. I didn't mind. Invisibility had been my greatest skill since childhood. My name is Selena Michaels, and growing up with parents who only loved when convenient taught me one thing: the quieter you are, the less trouble you attract. So I stayed quiet. At home. At school. And behind the counter at Ashton Park, my little refuge.
The bell above the door chimed. I glanced up out of habit. And then I saw him. He didn't belong here. From his tailored suit to the expensive watch catching the soft light, he screamed money. But it wasn't that which made him stand out—it was the weight in his eyes, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. I lowered my gaze, pretending to rearrange books. Men like him didn't come into bookstores for girls like me. Yet the slow, confident footsteps approached the counter.
"Yes? Can I help you find something?" I asked, my voice steady
For a heartbeat, he just stared. Not the uncomfortable stare some men gave. It was… different, like he had stumbled upon something he didn't expect.
"My friend said I should come get a book here," he said, calm, just faintly weary.
"Usually that's why people come to bookstores," I said.
A corner of his mouth twitched.
"Something to get my mind off things," he added.
I nodded, understanding more than he realized. "Then you don't need a business book or advice. You need a story." I handed him a novel.
Our fingers brushed briefly. His gaze lingered on the cover, then slowly lifted to meet mine.
"Is it good?" he asked softly.
"It saved me once," I said.
He looked at me like he'd discovered something unexpected. Then he said something I would never forget:
"Then I suppose I should trust the girl who survived it."