Chapter Four | Someone Else Remembered

The second time, it was the library.

She wasn’t looking for anyone. Just something to read with tea. Something quiet.

The bell above the door jingled like it always did, and the warmth of the old building wrapped around her. Dust and cedar and pages that had been turned too many times. She loved that smell. It made her feel known.

She wandered toward the fiction aisle, fingers trailing lightly across the spines—until she saw him.

Same green sweater.
Or maybe a different one, but the same color.
Still soft around the edges. Still the kind of person who made silence feel shared, not awkward.

He was reading the back of a book with one hand, the other resting absently on the shelf, as if he were holding the moment steady.

She almost turned around.
Almost.
But something held her still.

He looked up.

And there it was again—no words, no nod this time. Just a look.

But it wasn’t the startled look of someone recognizing a stranger.
It was softer than that.
It was the look of someone realizing they’ve seen you before, and remembering how it felt.

She smiled. Just a little.

He didn’t smile back—not yet—but there was a shift.
In his eyes.
In the air between them.

He held the book up and said quietly,
"Have you read this one?"

She shook her head.

He placed it gently on the shelf between them, like a peace offering.
“Trade you for a good recommendation.”

And then he walked away.

She stood there, staring at the book.

The author was unfamiliar. The cover was worn. The title was simple: The Sky That Stayed.

She checked it out.

Later that night, curled in her chair beneath the lamplight, she opened the first page and found a line underlined in pencil:

“There are people you haven’t met yet who will feel like home.”

She closed the book and held it against her chest.
For once, she didn’t try to explain the feeling.
She just let it be there.