Chapter Text
Rain poured endlessly outside, heavy enough to turn the glowing storefronts along the small street into trembling golden blurs beneath the warm light of the lamps scattered across the wet sidewalk. Paris seemed quieter on damp days like that. As if the constant sound of rain slowed even the hurried footsteps of people crossing the narrow streets beneath dark umbrellas. But Orm Kornnaphat continued living at her usual pace.
Her phone trapped between her shoulder and ear, her car keys spinning absently between her fingers, heels striking fast against the wet pavement as she crossed the narrow sidewalk trying not to ruin her ridiculously expensive leather bag in the rain.
"Mom, I still don’t understand why I had to come pick up books in person."
Koy’s voice sounded calm on the other side of the call, perfectly comfortable while condemning her daughter to the downpour.
"Because I’m busy and you were already nearby."
"I was not nearby."
"You were."
"This is emotional manipulation."
Koy laughed softly.
"Take the opportunity to meet Ling too."
Orm immediately rolled her eyes, stopping beneath the awning of a closed café to wipe a few drops off her phone screen.
"Here you go again with this mysterious bookstore woman."
"She’s lovely."
"You talk about her like she’s some unforgettable ex-girlfriend."
"Orm."
"I’m just saying I’m starting to feel emotionally cheated on every time you mention ‘Ling.’"
Her mother burst out laughing on the other side, completely out of patience for her daughter’s dramatics.
And honestly? Orm understood her own exaggeration. It was just that over the past few months that woman had started existing too much inside their house. Ling recommended a new book. Ling remembered that author. Ling set aside a rare edition. Ling made wonderful coffee. Ling said this. Ling thought that.
Ling. Ling. Ling.
As if that bookstore owner had slowly invaded her mother’s life without ever setting foot inside their home.
"You’re going to like her," Koy finally said, simply. Convincingly.
Orm let out a nasal laugh.
"Oh, sure. And she probably wears round glasses, talks about Russian literature, and silently judges everyone."
"You’re unbearable."
"I’m observant."
"Just go get the books."
The call ended before Orm could keep dramatizing.
She sighed, slipping her phone into her bag while finally lifting her eyes to the storefront in front of her.
“Bookstore.”
The small sign glowed softly above the rain-fogged window. Warm light spilled through the glass, gilding the wet surface and revealing shadows of cramped bookshelves, scattered plants, and wooden tables crowded with crooked stacks of books.
The place looked… alive.
Not sophisticated. Not modern. Not artificially Instagrammable in the way Orm was used to seeing in expensive cafés.
It looked lived in.
Warm.
Human.
She climbed the two entrance steps holding her bag uselessly over her head, already feeling the hem of her pants damp from the rain. The moment she pushed the door open, a small bell echoed through the room.
And immediately, something inside her slowed down.
The smell came first.
Fresh coffee.
Old books.
Wood.
Cinnamon, maybe.
Soft music playing somewhere hidden away sounded distant behind the rain outside. The entire place was lit by warm yellow lights, cozy enough to make her chest relax without permission.
Orm slowly removed her rain-soaked glasses, her eyes drifting across the narrow shelves, the tables covered in handmade bookmarks, the stacked covers near the counter.
Silence.
But not empty silence.
It was the kind of comfortable silence that embraced you.
"Just one second."
The voice came low.
Soft.
Almost warm.
Orm lifted her eyes automatically.
And forgot what she was going to say.
The woman was standing on top of a small wooden ladder organizing books on the highest shelf, completely unaware of the devastating effect she caused simply by existing. She wore an oversized cream-colored hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, revealing fingers stained with dark blue paint. Her loosely tied hair left a few strands falling near her face, and there was such an absurd calmness in her movements that it felt incompatible with the rest of the world.
She moved slowly.
Not slowly out of laziness.
Slowly like someone who had never needed to run to survive emotionally.
And that hit Orm with completely disproportionate force.
Because, for the first time in a very long time, she had the strange sensation that her mind had gone quiet.
"The coffee’s still warm."
The voice crossed the silence of the bookstore softly enough to make Orm lift her eyes immediately, still holding her wet glasses between her fingers. The woman climbed down the small wooden ladder slowly, two books pressed against her chest and a tranquility so natural in her movements that it felt incompatible with the rest of the world. Outside, Paris slowly disappeared beneath the continuous sound of rain hitting the windows and sliding through the narrow streets illuminated by the golden streetlights of the night. People hurried across the sidewalk beneath dark umbrellas while the cold wind scattered wet leaves near the closed storefronts. Inside, though, everything seemed to slow down.
And maybe that was what hit Orm first.
The calm.
Not forced calm, not performative calm, not the kind people fake because they want to seem mature. It was something else. A silent presence that made the entire room breathe at her rhythm.
When the woman finally lifted her eyes toward her, Orm felt her own heart stumble in a completely ridiculous way.
She was beautiful.
But not beautiful in an aggressive or unattainable way. She didn’t look assembled to be admired. Her loosely tied hair left a few strands near her face, the oversized hoodie sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and there were dark blue paint stains on her fingers, as if she had interrupted a painting just to organize books. And then Orm noticed the small beauty mark beneath her left eye.
That was it.
Her brain instantly decided that was the prettiest detail in the world.
"You’re Koy’s daughter, right?"
Orm took a second longer than normal to answer because she was still trying to understand why her breathing suddenly felt strange.
"I am."
The woman smiled softly, politely, and it made everything worse.
Her eyes literally curved into crescent moons, soft and warm, while her teeth appeared subtly in a smile far too beautiful to look real. There was no rush or exaggeration in the gesture. Even so, something tightened violently inside Orm’s chest.
It had been years.
Years since the last time someone had caused that feeling inside her.
That brief, absurd loss of balance.
As if the body recognized something before the mind could catch up.
"Your mother told me you’d come pick up her books."
The low voice pulled Orm back to the present. She realized, far too late, that she had been staring.
My God.
Normally she was good at talking. Good at controlling rooms. Good at making any interaction feel light, fun, easy. But in that moment all she could do was watch the calm way that woman moved behind the counter, carefully separating the books, stacking them slowly one on top of the other while rain continued sliding down the fogged windows.
The smell of fresh coffee mixed with old paper made everything worse. More intimate. Warmer.
More dangerous.
"My mother talks about you a lot," Orm managed to say, even while feeling her own voice strangely quiet.
The woman lifted her eyes again.
Gentle.
Attentive.
"She talks about you a lot too."
And that should have been nothing more than politeness.
A simple sentence.
But Orm’s heart raced again in the same absurd way, far too hard for a stranger inside a bookstore on a rainy Tuesday.
She didn’t understand what was happening.
She only understood that she didn’t want to leave yet.
* * *
The rain took longer to ease than Orm would’ve liked.
Or maybe less.
She couldn’t really tell anymore.
The clock on her phone showed that it hadn’t even been twenty minutes since she’d walked into the bookstore, but time inside there felt strange, slower, almost soft. At some point, Ling had made another coffee without asking whether she wanted one and set the cup in front of her with silent naturalness, as if she had already expected Orm to stay.
Orm accepted it without thinking.
Now she sat at a small table near the window, holding the warm cup between her hands while watching Ling reorganize a stack of books near the romance section.
And God.
She really did everything slowly.
Not lazily. Not distractedly.
It was care.
As if every object deserved attention before being put back in its place.
Orm discreetly rested her face against her hand, following Ling’s movements while pretending to glance at her phone every now and then so she wouldn’t look completely insane. The problem was that the more she watched, the worse that absurd feeling in her chest became.
Because it wasn’t just attraction.
Attraction, she understood.
This felt like something else.
A strange desire to keep staying close.
To remain inside that warm silence longer than made sense.
Ling walked past her carrying a few books against her chest, and the soft scent of coffee, paint, and something woody reached Orm again for a brief second.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"Are you analyzing me?" Ling suddenly asked without stopping walking.
Orm nearly choked on her coffee.
"What?"
Ling placed the books on the nearest shelf before looking back at her again. There was soft amusement in her eyes now. Subtle. Calm.
"You look at me like you’re trying to solve a puzzle."
Orm’s heart raced so fast it actually irritated her.
She had no idea how to answer that without humiliating herself deeply.
"Maybe I’m trying to understand how someone manages to be this calm."
Ling tilted her head slightly, as if genuinely considering the question.
"And did you figure it out?"
"Not yet."
The answer came out too quiet.
Too honest.
For a moment, silence settled between them again, filled only by the softer rain outside and the low music playing somewhere in the bookstore. But this time it didn’t feel empty. It felt full of something delicate Orm still didn’t know how to name.
Ling held her gaze for a few calm seconds before slowly looking away.
And it was ridiculous how much that affected Orm.
Ridiculous.
She had met that woman less than half an hour ago.
Less than half an hour.
Even so, some deeply inconvenient part of her body was already starting to act as if it had found something important.
Orm tried paying attention to her phone for exactly forty seconds before giving up completely.
Notifications kept pouring in nonstop — company messages, Maya sending random videos, her brother asking where she’d parked the car this time — but everything felt too distant inside that warm bookstore lit by rain.
She lifted her eyes again almost on instinct.
Ling was crouched near one of the lower shelves reorganizing children’s books, completely focused on what she was doing. The sleeves of her hoodie had slipped slightly down her arms and a strand of hair slowly fell near her face while she worked without any hurry.
Like someone who genuinely liked being there.
Orm couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen someone look so comfortable inside their own life.
Most people she knew lived exhausted. Running. Constantly trying to reach something bigger. More money, more recognition, more space, more status.
Ling looked like she already possessed exactly what she needed.
That realization caused a strange feeling in Orm’s chest.
Almost envy.
Almost admiration.
Almost the desire to sit on the floor of that bookstore and ask how someone learned to live like that.
The bell above the door rang quickly when a couple rushed inside from the rain, bringing cold wind into the room. Ling immediately lifted her eyes toward them with a gentle smile, greeting both of them by name before they even removed their umbrellas.
By name.
Orm watched the entire scene in silence.
The woman seemed to belong to that neighborhood the same way the shelves, the smell of coffee, and the warm light belonged there. Naturally. Effortlessly. As if she had built that place little by little until she became part of it.
And maybe she had.
While calmly talking to the customers, Ling grabbed two books from a nearby shelf and started recommending something in a low voice. The couple laughed easily beside her. Comfortable.
Orm realized, with a strange tightness in her stomach, that she wanted to know what it felt like to receive that attention constantly.
Wanted to know what it would feel like to be looked at that way for longer.
Wanted to know what it would feel like to belong to that space too.
My God.
She really needed to leave before she completely lost her mind.
But when she finally picked up her phone to call the driver, Ling returned to her table holding a small ceramic plate.
A slice of cake.
"You got stuck here because of the rain," she said simply, placing the plate in front of her. "So this one’s on the house."
Orm immediately lifted her eyes.
"Do you feed customers as a retention strategy?"
Ling smiled again, small and warm, her eyes curving into crescent moons.
And there was that absurd feeling again.
Her heart stumbling like some idiot teenager.
"Sometimes it works."
Orm looked at the cake, then back at her.
"This looks dangerously homemade."
"My mother made it this morning."
That pulled a soft laugh out of her before she even realized it.
And it felt strange.
Because it had been a long time since she’d felt this light around someone she had just met. Without calculation. Without performance. Without the need to constantly occupy space just to be noticed.
With Ling, silence didn’t erase anyone.
It welcomed them.
* * *
Orm took the first bite of the cake while still watching Ling over the rim of her warm coffee cup and immediately realized she had made a mistake.
Because now there was one more thing associated with that woman inside her head.
The cake was simple, slightly warm in the center, the smell of vanilla and butter filling the taste of the coffee in a ridiculously comforting way. It tasted like rainy afternoons, like a quiet home, like something old and safe she couldn’t explain.
"This is really good."
Ling was writing something down in a notebook behind the counter when she lifted her eyes toward her.
"My mother would be happy to hear that."
"Your mother cooks and you make coffee? This bookstore is an extremely well-planned emotional operation."
That made Ling laugh softly again, the smile appearing small and far too beautiful against her calm face.
Moon-shaped eyes.
The beauty mark.
Perfect teeth.
Orm looked down at the plate before she started looking completely disturbed.
Because honestly? She was already close to it.
She didn’t know exactly what was happening to her. She only knew there was something dangerously addictive about the feeling of being there. The rain outside. The low music. The way Ling never seemed anxious to fill silences.
Most people demanded something from her all the time.
Energy.
Responses.
Performance.
Presence.
Ling didn’t seem to demand anything.
And maybe that was exactly what made Orm want to offer everything willingly.
She rested her chin against her hand while watching the woman organize a few notes at the register with slow, absentminded movements. There was such a natural serenity in her that it was almost disorienting.
As if the world still hadn’t managed to harden her.
"Did you always want to work with books?"
Ling thought for a few seconds before answering.
"I think so. My father used to say I spent more time inside libraries than at home when I was a kid."
"And painting?"
Her fingers paused briefly over the counter.
"That came later."
Orm noticed the tiny shift in her tone.
Subtle.
But there.
As if that part was more intimate.
She didn’t push.
For the first time in many years, she didn’t feel the urge to invade a silence immediately just because it existed.
Ling went back to writing in the notebook and Orm kept watching without realizing she was doing it again. The rain had softened outside; gentler drops slowly slid down the fogged windows while the golden light of late afternoon began blending into the gray sky.
Everything there felt beautiful in a dangerous kind of way.
Not luxurious.
Not impressive.
Just… human.
Warm.
Welcoming.
She felt her phone vibrate on the table and finally looked at the screen.
Maya:
u dead?
Jack:
your mom said u went to pick up a book AN HOUR AGO
Orm stared at the messages for a few seconds before lifting her eyes toward Ling again.
The woman was distracted organizing a few mugs behind the counter, completely unaware that she had just emotionally destabilized a stranger on some random rainy afternoon.
And God.
Orm realized in that exact moment, with deeply inconvenient clarity, that she would come back there the next day.
Even without needing a single book.
* * *
Ling flipped the sign on the door to “closed” while the rain slowly eased outside. The street was quieter now, illuminated by the golden reflections of streetlights against the wet pavement, and the bookstore gradually sank into that comfortable late-night calm.
She started organizing the last things of the day without much hurry.
Picked up a few books left scattered across tables, straightened a crooked stack near the romance section, turned off half the lights, and placed the used cups beside the small sink behind the counter while the low music continued filling the room.
Time passed quietly.
When the bell above the door rang again, the bookstore had already been closed for almost forty minutes.
Junji walked in first, holding her backpack uselessly over her head to escape the drizzle.
"Thank God you hadn’t left yet."
Ling walked to the entrance to open the door again.
"You’re late."
"Blame the rain. And my complete lack of desire to deal with public transportation today."
Junji stepped inside rubbing her damp arm while looking around the nearly empty bookstore.
"It smells like strong coffee in here."
"I made a lot today."
"Did Mei send cake?"
"She did."
"Then I survived traffic for a reason."
Ling let out a small nasal laugh while Junji dropped her backpack near the counter and pulled one of the tall stools over to sit.
The door opened again a few minutes later and Fluke walked in carrying two bags of takeout and a dramatic expression.
"I hate this city when it rains."
"You hate this city in every weather condition," Junji answered immediately.
"Because I’m consistent."
Fluke dropped the food onto the counter before quickly glancing around the quiet bookstore.
"Busy today?"
Ling nodded while organizing a few receipts.
"Actually, yeah."
"Did Koy stop by?" Junji asked distractedly while stealing fries from the bag.
"No. She sent her daughter to pick up her books."
"Oh."
Junji nodded without giving it much importance while opening a soda.
Ling simply kept closing the register while the two of them started an entirely useless argument about which restaurant on the street made the worst ramen in the city.
The conversation flowed easily inside the nearly dark bookstore, mixed with the distant sound of rain and the smell of hot food spreading through the room. Junji complained about work, Fluke dramatized some absurd situation from his day, and Ling listened to both of them while finishing the last things before heading home.
At some point, close to ten at night, her phone vibrated on the counter.
Koy:
Was Orm polite?
Ling looked at the message for a few seconds before replying.
She was.
She’s gentle.
Then she locked the screen naturally and went back to the conversation as if that meant absolutely nothing.
* * *
Orm woke up the next morning still thinking about her.
Which was already irritating on its own.
She realized it before even fully opening her eyes, still lying beneath warm sheets while the weak early morning rain continued sliding down outside the window.
Ling.
The first thing that appeared in her mind was the smile.
The moon-shaped eyes.
Then the low voice.
Then the smell of coffee.
Orm let out a muffled complaint against the pillow before pulling the blanket over her face.
Pathetic.
Absolutely pathetic.
Uni barked softly beside the bed as if personally judging her.
"Don’t start."
The little dog only tilted her head.
Orm spent a few seconds staring at the ceiling before finally grabbing her phone from the nightstand. There were company messages, piled-up emails, Maya complaining about something irrelevant at seven in the morning, and a completely random picture Jack had sent of a cat wearing a banana costume.
She replied to everything automatically while trying to ignore the fact that her brain kept involuntarily drifting back to a small bookstore on a rainy street in Paris.
Ridiculous.
She showered.
Had coffee.
Picked out clothes.
Left the house.
Even so, Ling kept appearing in quick flashes throughout the day.
Inside the car, stuck in the city’s hellish traffic, Orm caught herself remembering the calm way she organized books.
During a meeting, she realized the financial director had been talking for at least two minutes without Orm absorbing a single word because she’d gotten distracted staring at a small blue paint stain on her own pen.
At lunch, Maya narrowed her eyes immediately the second Orm sat down at the restaurant table.
"You’re distracted."
Orm lifted her eyes from the menu.
"I’m not."
"You are," Jack answered before she even finished the sentence. "You’ve been staring at nothing for like five minutes."
"I was thinking."
"That clearly never ends well," Maya commented while stealing fries from his plate.
Orm discreetly rolled her eyes, but ended up glancing outside the restaurant.
The rain had started again, soft against the windows.
Instantly, without any permission whatsoever, she thought about the bookstore again.
The smell of coffee.
The warm lighting.
Paint-stained hands holding a mug.
My God.
She really needed to stop this.
"Is something going on?" Jack asked this time in a softer tone.
Orm snapped back to the present quickly.
"No."
The answer came out far too automatic.
Maya kept watching her for a few seconds as if trying to fit together some invisible puzzle piece, but didn’t push.
The conversation continued normally after that — work, useless gossip, complaints about clients, Maya dramatizing a terrible date from the weekend — and Orm tried to follow everything as normally as possible.
Tried.
Because every now and then she still caught herself thinking about her without realizing it.
The calm.
The small smile.
The way silence around her felt comfortable instead of empty.
And the worst part was exactly that.
Ling hadn’t done anything extraordinary.
Hadn’t flirted.
Hadn’t tried to impress her.
Even so, she remained stuck somewhere inconvenient inside Orm’s mind since the afternoon before.
When lunch ended and the three of them left the restaurant together to face the city’s thin drizzle once again, Orm realized something deeply irritating.
She was already thinking of an excuse to go back to that bookstore.