Chapter 6:

                                                                   Before the Sky Clears

The air inside the bookstore felt different today. Not heavy. Not light. Just… waiting.

Kai stood outside for a long moment before opening the door, his hand hovering over the handle. There was no rain this time, no urgent weather pulling him in. Just a feeling—a quiet, persistent one—that he might find something he didn’t know he needed.

The bell above the door rang softly.

Yuna looked up from behind the counter. She wasn’t wearing her earphones today. Her hair was tied loosely, wisps escaping around her face like clouds brushing the edge of sunlight.

 “Hey,” she said, almost surprised. “No hoodie?”

Kai glanced down at his dry shirt and smiled sheepishly. “It’s not raining.”

She chuckled. “Didn’t think I’d see you on a clear day.”

 “Didn’t think I’d come on one,” he admitted, then added, “But here I am.”

He wandered toward aisle three—habit now, maybe comfort. But he didn’t stop there. Instead, he circled the back shelves and returned to the front counter, where Yuna was organizing receipts in a small wooden box.

 “Do you always work alone?” he asked.

Yuna paused. “Mostly. Except on weekends. It’s quieter this way.”

 “Do you like it?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Quiet lets me think.”

 “And the thinking… helps?”

Yuna gave a half smile, as if the question had surprised her. “Sometimes. Sometimes it just makes the quiet louder.”

Kai leaned against the counter. “You ever think about what we’d say to ourselves if we met… before all the quiet?”

She looked at him, eyes soft. “What would you say?”

Kai didn’t answer right away. He was watching the way her fingers tapped the wood gently, unconsciously, like playing a silent song.

 “Maybe nothing,” he said finally. “Maybe I’d just… listen.”

The silence between them deepened—not awkward, not tense. Just full.

Yuna broke it gently. “You’re not like most people who come here.”

 “What makes you say that?”

 “Most come to escape. You come to feel.”

Kai didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t say anything. But she was right.

And she knew he knew it.

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When he left that day, there was no rain behind him. Just the warmth of the shop, and the trace of something he couldn’t name.

Something soft.

Something beginning.

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