CHAPTER 1- THE ENCOUNTER
It wasn't the kind of day meant for magic. Grey clouds blanketed the sky, and soft rain tapped against the windows of downtown buildings like a metronome for a slow, tired city. People rushed past one another, umbrellas up, heads down. No one made eye contact.
Marcus never minded days like this. In fact, he preferred them.
He left the noise of the city behind as he stepped into a small bookstore tucked between an antique shop and a flower stall. A bell above the door jingled gently, and with it, the familiar scent of old pages and roasted coffee hit him like a warm memory.
The place was quiet—only a few people inside. He shook off his coat, tucked it under his arm, and wandered toward the poetry section. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. Maybe a quiet corner. Maybe something to pull him out of the slump he'd been in.
He ran his fingers along the spines of books, letting titles brush against his thoughts, when the door behind him chimed again.
He glanced over his shoulder casually—and froze.
She walked in with raindrops in her hair, her scarf slightly loose, and her cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked up, eyes searching the room briefly, and in that second, their eyes met.
Something clicked.
Not in a grand, explosive way—but in a quiet, certain one. Like the feeling of finally finding a sentence that describes exactly how you feel.
She gave a polite smile—quick, apologetic for letting in the cold—and moved toward the fiction shelves. But Marcus's heart was already racing. He didn't even know her name. He hadn't heard her voice. And yet, his chest tightened like he'd been waiting for her.
And maybe he had.
He turned back to the shelves, but he wasn't reading anymore. His eyes flicked sideways, stealing glances.
She wasn't just beautiful—she looked... familiar. Not in the sense that he'd seen her before, but in the way that some books feel like home even on the first page.
He took a quiet breath and told himself to do something he rarely did.
Take a chance.
He grabbed a random book—some poetry collection he didn't even register—and walked a little closer.
She was standing there, flipping through a novel, unaware.
"Excuse me," he said, softly. "Is that one any good?"
She looked up. Her eyes were the color of dark honey, thoughtful and kind. She blinked at the question and gave a small smile.
"I've only just picked it up," she said. "But the first line caught me."
Marcus smiled. "Then it's probably a good one."
She tilted the book toward him, inviting him to read. Their hands almost touched.
"I'm Marcus," he said.
"Elena."
Their names hung in the air, delicate and simple.
And just like that, something began.
Not loudly.
But undeniably.