It started the way most tragedies do—quietly.
The bell above the bookstore door chimed as Ruha stepped inside, brushing the cold rain from her coat sleeve. Her eyes scanned the shop like they always did, lingering just a second too long on the far corner. It was empty now. He wasn’t there today.
Tadan’s late, she told herself. Or maybe he wasn’t coming at all.
She moved to the shelves, pretending to search for a title, though her fingers paused on the spine of the same book every time—The Art of Disappearing. Tadan had once laughed at that. "A bit dramatic, don’t you think?" he’d teased, but his eyes had softened when he said it.
Now, his absence pressed like a bruise she didn’t want to touch.
Ruha didn’t cry anymore. Not in public. Not since Danam.
She heard the door open again behind her. Her breath caught. For a second, her heart raced with that strange, stupid hope.
But it wasn’t Tadan.
It was him.
Danam didn’t belong in the warm yellow light of the bookstore. His presence cracked the space like lightning splitting sky. Black coat. Sharp smile. And those eyes—eyes that once made her feel safe. Now they were just shadows of promises broken.
"Ruha," he said, like he still had the right.
She didn’t answer. Not at first. Not until the silence stretched too long and her grip on the book tightened.
"What do you want?" she asked quietly.
He tilted his head. “Just wondering if you’re still pretending to be someone else.”
She turned away, heart thudding.
Then came the second voice. Softer. Steady.
"Step back, Danam."
Tadan had arrived.
He stood in the doorway like he belonged there—which he did. Because Tadan had never tried to control her, never played with her fears. He didn’t demand to be let in—he just waited until she was ready.
Danam laughed. “Still playing the hero, I see.”
And just like that, the air changed. The quiet bookstore turned into a battleground of glances, of things left unsaid.
Ruha looked at them both—and suddenly, the weight of everything pressed down. She had thought she could outrun the past. That if she stared into the future hard enough, she could forget those eyes.
But the past had a face.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5KW4qMHHrV
And it had just walked through the door.
