The soft chime of the doorbell startled Amara. She glanced up from her book to see a tall, disheveled man step inside, shaking rain off his coat. His sharp jawline and messy brown hair might've been striking if not for the exhaustion etched on his face.
"Sorry, are you still open?" he asked, his voice deep and gravelly, as though he hadn't spoken all day.
Amara nodded. "We close in fifteen minutes. Take your time."
He nodded back, offering a polite, almost shy smile before disappearing into the fiction aisle. Amara tried not to stare, but there was something magnetic about him. Maybe it was the way he moved—calculated but with a hint of vulnerability, like he didn't quite belong here.
Minutes passed. The sound of rain tapping against the windows filled the silence. Amara returned to her book, though her eyes wandered occasionally toward the stranger. Finally, he approached the counter, a worn copy of The Great Gatsby in hand.
"A classic choice," she said, sliding the book toward the scanner.
"An old favorite," he replied, his lips curling into a faint smile. "Thought it might be time to revisit it."
"Good idea. Sometimes a familiar story can feel different, depending on where you are in life."
He paused, as if her words had struck a chord. "You're right. I could use a fresh perspective."
Amara handed him the book. "Enjoy."
As he left, a business card slipped from his pocket and landed on the floor. She called out to him, but the rain swallowed her voice. Picking up the card, she noticed his name and title: Logan Myers, Architect. Beneath it was a handwritten address.
Little did she know, this small moment would change everything.