Narration: Ethan
It was raining again. Not with fury, but with persistence.
Thin drops slid down the bookstore window as if trying to erase the world outside, washing over the hurried faces passing along Marquês Street without noticing where they stepped.
It was Wednesday.
Exactly one week since she walked in for the first time.
I had left the counter tidy. The Russian books in the spotlight, like planting a memory along someone's path. I had waited for her yesterday. And the day before. But it was today — at 2:11 PM — that the doorbell chimed with the same metallic ring, and time seemed to hold its breath.
Luna.
Same posture, different coat.
Olive green now. Almost military, but still feminine.
Her eyes still sharp, but with something… slightly distracted.
She held the copy of Crime and Punishment to her chest, her fingers pressing the cover with subtle tension.
She came to the counter, and for a moment, said nothing. Just stared at me.
— "Finished?" — I asked, voice low, tone neutral, as always.
She nodded with a faint smile.
— "More than the book, I think I finished with myself."
Words that would make anyone uncomfortable.
Except me.
I understood. Because sometimes we read to lose ourselves. Sometimes, to find ourselves.
— "Did you like the dedication?" — I asked, as if it were just curiosity.
Her eyes widened slightly.
— "You…?"
— "Maybe," — I replied, meeting her gaze. — "Or maybe it was Dostoevsky from beyond."
She laughed. That subtle laugh, not for the world, but only for someone paying attention.
We stood in silence for a moment. Long enough to notice the phone vibrating in her coat pocket.
She glanced at the screen quickly, trying to be discreet.
But I see what others don't.
The name that popped up… I couldn't identify.
But the smile that formed on her face was different.
It wasn't the kind of smile you offer a bookstore clerk.
It was intimate.
Small.
Content.
I felt something bite inside. Fast, acidic, precise.
My eyes dropped, analyzing the way she typed. A quick thumb, pauses between phrases.
It wasn't just an automatic reply.
She was invested.
— "Any recommendations today?" — she asked, tucking her phone away like it hadn't just altered my entire day.
— "Depends. Want something to distract… or something to hurt?"
She smiled again, but this time didn't meet my eyes.
That little dodge… was the confirmation.
She was with someone.
Maybe not officially. Maybe just exchanging messages.
But that was the beginning. And I knew the start of a mistake when I saw one.
— "Something that confuses," — she answered. — "I want a book that makes me question everything."
You already have that. You have me.
You just don't know it yet.
I handed her a copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being.
She turned it in her hands, read the back cover, and nodded as if it touched something quiet inside her.
— "Can I have your number? In case I want more recommendations… or need to return this one quicker," — she said, half joking, half sincere.
My heart skipped a beat.
But I stayed in control.
I took a bookmark and wrote my number by hand, like leaving a scar.
She took it, folded it delicately, and placed it in her bag.
—
She left the bookstore at 2:36 PM.
I waited two minutes.
Closed the register calmly, messaged that I was stepping out for lunch, and pulled my hood up.
The black coat hid the intent well.
I followed.
Not too close.
But not far enough to lose her.
Luna walked like someone pretending not to have a destination. But her steps knew.
She turned right, then left, passed the gallery sidewalk, and crossed the street while the light still blinked.
I saw her check her phone again. And smile.
Another message.
She stopped in front of a café — one of those modern ones, with warm lights and gluten-free cakes.
Stood there for nearly a minute, as if waiting.
Then he appeared.
A man. Tall, scruffy beard, denim jacket.
He approached with a kiss on the cheek that lasted half a second too long.
And she… responded naturally.
I stood across the street, behind a newspaper stand covered with tarp.
The rain fell heavier now. But the water didn't touch what boiled inside.
They walked in together.
So this is it.
A fling.
A mistake.
A dissonance in the symphony I had been composing in silence.
I watched for nearly thirty minutes.
They sat in the back of the café, spoke with glasses between their fingers.
She played with her hair, smiled downwards, traced circles on the table with her nail.
Signs. All the signs.
And him?
He touched her wrist at times. Leaned in like someone trying to invade.
I noted every gesture.
Every tilt of the head.
Every facial expression.
Not out of jealousy.
Not just that.
But because I needed to know what I was dealing with.
I needed to understand the threat.
He was older. Not by much. Maybe 27. He had a flashy energy. The kind that uses others as mirrors.
She didn't see it. Not yet.
—
When they left, I pretended to be an ordinary pedestrian.
I followed to the taxi stand, where he said goodbye with a hug. Too long.
And left.
She stayed there for a few seconds, motionless.
Then, as if she felt something — a presence, a shadow — she turned her head in the opposite direction.
She didn't see me.
But her expression changed.
Luna felt it. Again.
—
I returned to the bookstore with soaked shoes and a boiling mind.
His name is Gabriel. I'll find that out later.
And I'll also find out where he works, who he hangs out with, what he hides.
Not because I'm jealous.
But because I see what she doesn't.
And if he's like the others…