Magic of Bookstores

Today I went on an adventure to the bookstore with my cousin Natalie to embark on yet another writing marathon. We wrote for about half an hour before I got distracted... By what, you may ask? By these two.

I noticed this guy, who looked nervous. He walked around the same bookshelf about eight times. I couldn't stop watching him. He was tall and young looking, with dusty brown hair and a hint of stubble on his slim jaw. He kept pacing around this one bookshelf and I was trying to figure out why. He looked nervous--biting his lip, twisting his hands, shifting his weight when standing still.

And then I noticed why.

There was a girl. She was sitting in a chair by the bookshelf, completely absorbed in her notebook she was scribbling frantically in, and she hand't noticed the stranger glancing at her. She had blonde hair that curled at her chin, black framed glasses, and she was fairly petite.

I watched curiously as the man walked yet another lap around the bookshelf, then cautiously approached her. I heard him say, "Hi... can I sit here?"

Her head snapped up, a distracted look in her eyes that I recognize and reciprocate when writing. "Yeah, yeah," she waved him to sit, then continued writing.

Immediately I knew this was the start of a romantic novel.

I discreetly watched--though I'm sure if I blatantly stared it wouldn't make a difference, since this poor man was so enchanted by this mysterious writer.

He sat down and tapped his fingers on his knee for a moment, then launched into a question. "What are you writing?"

I smiled to myself. This, surely, would work out well, for what better question is there to ask a writer than "what are you writing"?

She turned her head slowly to look at him, shock clear on her face. "Just... a story.." she hesitated to answer.

"What is it about?"

Oh, I thought to myself, this is going to end very well indeed.

She paused, as if wondering whether or not to let her soul be bared to this stranger. "I could go on for hours," she finally said. "I don't want to waste your time."

"That's okay," he said. "I don't mind."

"I'm sure you do," she mumbled, then turned back to her notebook.

He sat in stunned silence, obviously searching his mind for what to say next--he so desperately wanted to keep talking to this girl. His eyes wandered to her notebook, and, with a sudden pop of excitement, he gushed, "That map is incredible!"

She blushed a pretty rose color and handed him the book. "You like it?"

"It's awesome!" He said, turning the pages gingerly as if they might rip with the slightest twitch of his slender hands.

With a deep inhale, she gathered her courage and blurted, "My main character was born there." She pointed onto the paper.

The man scooted his chair closer to hers and they continued talking for a while longer, mostly about her story. The way he looked at her almost made me blush to watch, as if it were in an intimate moment that should be shared between them without curious onlookers. It was if in those few moments, he had fallen completely in love with her. He gazed on her with complete adoration and admiration, soaking in everything she said.

At this point I sighed, an involuntary smile creeping across my lips.

The man jumped suddenly as his phone buzzed. He took it out and grimaced at the screen. "I have to be somewhere," he explained to the girl.

My heart sank for them. Was this another sunken ship?

She looked crestfallen, but she soon brightened. "Here," she said, tearing out a page from her notebook. "Here's my number. Call me when you can, okay?"

I had to hold back a squeal of delight.

His face lit up. Goodness it was adorable. He took the paper and tucked it into his shirt pocket. He put his hand boldly over hers on the armrest of the chair and said, "I'll call you as soon as I can." He then departed with the biggest grin on his face.

It is times like this that rekindle my hope and admiration for love, and the paradoxical gentle power it possesses.


(P.S. - I'm already writing the novel about them, don't steal it please) :)