Sundays always had their own rhythm at Brunne’s bookstore.
Quieter.
Slower.
As if time adjusted itself to the old shelves and pages that were rarely touched in a hurry.
Blair had been standing behind the cashier since noon, serving customers with a smile she knew how to wear, though that day it felt thinner than usual.
Every now and then, her eyes drifted toward the door.
She was not officially waiting for anyone.
There was no plan.
No message.
But there was a habit she quietly remembered.
“Tired?” Brunne asked from behind the literature shelves, his voice low.
Blair gave a small shrug.
“Just usual.”
She did not say anything else, but Brunne had worked with her long enough to know when “usual” meant something was being held back.
“You look like someone waiting for rain,” Brunne said softly.
“Even though the sky’s clear.”
Blair smiled faintly.
“Sometimes rain comes without clouds.”
Brunne did not respond.
He only nodded slightly, then returned to arranging books.
No pressure.
No demand for explanations.
Brunne knows Blair so well.
Slowly, afternoon turned into evening.
The shop lights glowed warmer, the shadows of the shelves grew longer.
Blair glanced at the clock on the wall.
Thirty minutes until closing.
The door still had not opened.
She rearranged the books on the front table more than once, though they were already neat.
Wiped the cashier counter even though there was no dust.
All while occasionally looking up, as if footsteps could appear at any moment.
Usually, there was one last customer.
The footsteps were always the same.
A little heavy at the heels, like someone who came not just to buy books.
Blair recognized that sound even before seeing the person.
When the footsteps finally echoed that night, her heart sped up on instinct.
She lifted her face with a smile already formed.
Then the smile stopped halfway.
Not Pablo.
Carlo stood at the doorway, taking a small breath before stepping inside.
His jacket was slightly wet, his hair messy from the night wind.
“Oh,” he said, a little surprised.
“Still open?” He was making small talk.
Blair knew that.
“Not for long,” Blair replied, her voice still warm, though something dimmed before she could hide it.
Carlo caught it.
He did not ask.
Only nodded and stepped inside.
They talked quietly in the shop.
About books.
About long days.
About light things that did not touch any fragile point.
Blair laughed softly at times.
Carlo smiled.
It flowed naturally.
Too natural.
Outside the shop, under a dim streetlight, Pablo stood.
He arrived just as the clock was nearing closing time.
He came with a simple intention.
Dinner.
Conversation.
Sitting without hurry, like usual.
Unfortunately.
Blair and Carlo.
Facing each other.
Too close to be just coincidence, too calm to interrupt.
Pablo stopped walking.
He did not go in.
He did not leave either.
He stood there long enough to realize one thing that weighed heavily on his chest:
Blair was laughing, and it was not because of him.
There was no dramatic scene.
No embrace.
Nothing morally wrong.
But Pablo knew that in that moment, something had shifted slightly from where it used to be.
Inside, Blair checked the clock again.
The shop had to close.
“Sorry,” she said to Carlo.
“I have to—”
“Yeah,” Carlo smiled.
“I know.”
They walked to the door together.
Blair turned off the lights one by one, then opened the door.
The night air rushed in.
And there, across the street, Pablo was gone.
Blair stood a moment longer than she should have, staring blankly outside.
The feeling was strange.
Like losing something she had never held.
Carlo watched from beside her.
“Were you waiting for someone?”
Blair shook her head, too quickly.
“No.”
But as she locked the shop door, a part of her knew:
the person who usually came last did not come today, and the one who replaced him was not the person she had hoped for.
That night, each of them went home carrying a story they never spoke to anyone.
And that was exactly where the problem began to grow.