Kind's POV
The weight of his packed boxes pressed against his chest, each one heavier than the last. Kind folded a sweater, fingers brushing the soft fabric, but his mind was elsewhere. He scanned the room—books, clothes, his journal, and a few novels scattered across the bed. They weren't just things. They were pieces of a life he was about to leave behind.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost 10 a.m. His stomach twisted, but he pushed the feeling away. No time for lingering.
"Just one more time," he whispered, almost to himself, grabbing his wallet before heading for the door.
"Kind."
His mother's voice froze him in place. It was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.
He turned, already bracing for what came next. "Yeah, Mom?"
"Where are you going?"
It wasn't a casual question. The way she asked it, like she already knew the answer but needed to hear it from him, made his throat dry.
"I'm going to the bookstore," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to the floor, unable to meet her eyes.
Her silence stretched, heavy in the air. He could feel her eyes on him, weighing him, but he didn't dare look up.
Finally, she spoke, voice softening just a fraction. "A bookstore, huh?"
He nodded, barely a movement. There was no point in lying; she wouldn't believe it anyway.
"Alright," she said, her tone unchanged, "But be back by 11."
His shoulders sagged in relief, and before she could say anything else, he stepped out the door, the air outside feeling like a quiet exhale.
The doorbell jingled as Kind entered the bookstore. The familiar scent of old pages and dust enveloped him, grounding him in a way nothing else could. His mind was still racing, but here, he didn't have to pretend. No one expected anything from him.
"Oh, Kind. It's you," Raj, the owner, said with a raised eyebrow, surprised but not unwelcoming.
"Hey," Kind muttered, his voice barely audible. His eyes drifted toward the shelves as if they might offer him an answer he hadn't found yet.
"What can I do for you?" Raj asked, giving him a knowing look. Kind could always count on Raj to know when he wasn't just browsing.
Kind handed him a crumpled piece of paper. "Do you have this one?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like asking for a favor that wasn't meant to be asked.
Raj took the paper without missing a beat. "Let me check," he said, pulling open the dusty register.
Kind waited, running his fingers over the spines of books, feeling the familiar texture under his fingertips. The rows of them were like old friends, standing guard against the noise of the outside world.
He caught himself watching Raj fumble with the register, something old and comforting about it. The man didn't need a computer, didn't need anything fancy. This was his world, and it felt more real than anything Kind had ever known.
"You can look around while I check," Raj offered, his grin wide.
Kind nodded absently, his feet carrying him to the nearest bookshelf. His gaze drifted over the titles, not really reading, just letting the words blur together in the way they always did when he came here.
This was his refuge. His escape.
He'd spent hours here, every time life got too loud. When the weight of cruel words from others felt like they might crush him, this bookstore had been the only place where silence didn't feel empty.
Kind's mind flickered back to the day his mother had refused to buy him a book. He had cried in the middle of the store, and Raj had quietly suggested a cheaper alternative. Kind had left with a new book, but more than that, he'd left with the knowledge that someone saw him, even when no one else did.
His fingers ran across a familiar title, and his heart skipped a beat. There it was. The book. The one he had been searching for.
But it was too high.
[Why do they have to make these shelves so damn tall?] He gritted his teeth and reached up, stretching on tiptoe, but it was out of reach.
He turned, ready to ask Raj for help, but before he could open his mouth, someone brushed past him.
A stranger. Taller than Kind, with an easy grace, a face that seemed carved from sunlight. Kind froze. His chest tightened, and his heart stuttered. He tried to focus, tried to ignore the way his pulse seemed to speed up.
[Why is he getting so close?]
The stranger didn't seem to notice Kind at all, his movements smooth as he reached for a book on the shelf just behind him. Kind barely registered the brush of his arm, the warmth that lingered in the air.
[Okay. It's fine. He's just grabbing a book.]
But the man's arm brushed so close to him, and it sent a jolt through Kind's body, like a spark that couldn't be ignored.
[Don't panic. Just breathe.]
The stranger pulled the book from the shelf, holding it out toward Kind.
"Here," he said, his voice warm, rich, almost like it belonged to a song.
Kind blinked, suddenly aware that his mouth had gone dry, his heart a hammering mess in his chest. He didn't know what to do with himself.
"Uh… thanks," he muttered, his voice coming out thin and shaky.
The stranger's eyes caught his, and for just a moment, everything felt like it slowed down. The bookstore, the noise, everything faded away, leaving just the two of them standing there.
Kind's breath caught. He didn't know why, but he felt like his whole body was on fire.
He tore his gaze away, scrambling to the counter, the book clutched in his hand. Raj glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow but saying nothing.
"Found it?" Raj asked, his voice casual.
"Yeah," Kind replied, still struggling to catch his breath. His fingers fumbled as he pulled out the money, handing it over without counting.
He didn't know why, but he felt like something had changed. Like the world had shifted, and he hadn't even realized it.
As he turned to leave, Raj's voice followed him. "Come back soon."
Kind stopped, looking over his shoulder. His chest felt tight, and his words came out in a hushed tone. "I don't know if I will."
The drive home was slow, each minute dragging on, stretching in ways he couldn't explain. Kind stared out the window, trying to shake the feeling that had settled deep in his chest. He hadn't planned for any of this. Hadn't expected the stranger to leave such a mark on him.
But here he was, caught in the aftershock of something he didn't understand.
At home, Moon was waiting by the door, arms crossed.
"Perfect timing," she said, her voice flat.
"Mm," Kind muttered, unsure of what else to say.
She didn't wait for him to speak. "Go move your boxes."
Kind nodded silently, his throat tight. He hated this. Hated the coldness between them. [Why can't she just be nice?] The thought swirled in his mind, but he pushed it down.
Later, as Kind sat in front of his small Ganesha statue, his fingers traced the idol's rounded edges. The familiar weight of it in his hands was the only thing that kept him from feeling completely lost.
"Everything's going to change, right, Ganesha?" he whispered, though he wasn't sure if he believed it anymore.
When he was younger, people used to tell him that he had no right to pray to Ganesha, that he was nothing but bad luck. He used to argue back, though. Ganesha wasn't just a god. He was his friend. The only one who'd never abandoned him.
Kind squeezed the idol tight, then grabbed his boxes, determined to move forward, even if he didn't know what that meant. The car ride ahead of him felt like the first step into the unknown. But something inside him told him that change was coming, and he wasn't sure he was ready for it.