Two weeks had slipped away since Madison and Professor Michael’s initial encounter within the cozy confines of her bookstore.

The romantic thriller handpicked by Madison proved to be precisely what the genteel professor required—a crime of passion, less explicit and more fitting for his refined tastes.

Upon their second meeting, Professor Michael returned to the bookstore, only to find Madison lost in contemplation, her distant expression hinting at hidden traumas.

With a gentle smile, he returned the book, declaring his satisfaction with the read and his lack of further need for it.

When inquired about how the book had aided him, the professor cryptically responded, “It kept me updated.”

Madison, astute in her observations, sensed that the middle-aged professor harbored deeper emotions than he revealed.

Madison know that the honorable professor had picked the book for himself and not for an imaginary daughter, but she never hinted on her assumptions. That's what they were, assumptions. 

Michael saw the uneasiness written on Madison's face like a billboard. His face asking what his refined lips couldn't.

Still reluctant to divulge her troubles, the professor offered Madison some sage advice, saying, “You’re too young to be burdened by depression. Do whatever brings you solace, whatever that may be.” 

His eyes subtly conveyed an unspoken proposition.

“Read a novel?” Madison quipped amidst the turmoil of her emotions, managing a touch of humor with her esteemed customer.

With a hint of hesitation, the professor replied, “Yes, including reading a novel.”

Their conversation hung in the air, laden with unspoken sentiments, as if they were bidding farewell.

 Given their two brief encounters, parting ways shouldn’t have felt this difficult.

“Goodbye,” the professor uttered with a solemn visage as they parted.

Madison concealed her hurt, not just for losing a customer but for losing the only person she had encountered with same emotional wound.

If circumstances were different, they would have been friends then. Or maybe if she pushed herself through college.

Is it too late? She thought. 

She managed a feigned smile, which went unnoticed by the professor, as she spoke softly, “You might find your way back here one day. You can never be too certain.”

“I’m sure,” he responded, his voice filled with conviction.

He sought the perfect murder story, a tale of love and passion intertwined with crime—a timeless narrative as ancient as the universe itself.

Madison  had selected the ideal choice for him, and as he delved into its pages, clarity washed over him.

Why indeed would he ever return?