"The Bookshop at the Corner of Maybe"
By Emmanuel Baafi
Chapter 1: The Rainy Season of My Life
The first time I saw her, I was drowning.
Not in water, but in my own quiet, colorless existence.
It was a Tuesday, in that stubborn London drizzle that makes everything feel like a faded photograph. I was leaving the bank after another soul-crushing conversation about my debt—a mountain built from student loans, bad luck, and a broken family promise. The numbers on the statement swam before my eyes, blurring with the rain on the window.
To delay going home to my tiny, silent flat, I ducked into the closest shelter: Cornerstone Books, a narrow, dusty shop squeezed between a kebab house and a laundrette. A bell chimed weakly above the door.
And there she was.
Not behind the counter, but perched halfway up a rolling ladder, reaching for a book on the highest shelf. She wore a deep green sweater the color of forest moss, and her dark curls tumbled down her back as she stretched. For a moment, the only sound was the soft patter of rain on the window and the faint, sweet scent of old paper and bergamot.
"You look like a man who's lost something," she said, not looking down.
I startled. "How did you—?"
"The sigh," she said, finally glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes were a warm, intelligent brown, flecked with gold. "You sighed when you came in. People only sigh like that when they've lost something, or when they're looking for something they can't name."
I didn't know what to say. I was used to being invisible.
"I'm Elena," she said, climbing down with practiced ease. "This is my shop."
"Leo," I managed. "I… wasn't really looking for a book."
"Everyone's looking for a book," she replied, a playful smile touching her lips. "They just don't always know it."