as Lily closed up for the evening, the surrounding air vibrating with the anticipation of the dinner that lay ahead. She switched off th

g in Lily's eyes as she locked the door. Ethan was waiting by the curb, a figure cu

ing in Lily's chest. "Shall we?" He gestured to the small bistro across the stree

g on the pavement. At the bistro, they were welcomed into an intimate space,

hanting glow, painting their features with soft brush strokes. A silence settled, no

of the words they traded with each passing course. They delved into conversation as

elves into his memory and onto the pages of his notebooks. "Each city is l

ntures through the lens of literature, of the many lives she had lived vicariously through the characters she

ot thickening at the climax of a tale. Over dessert, a shared crème brûlée, they touche

d sugar. "It's as vital as breath. But there's an echo of loneliness in it-a sol

haps," she offered gently, "the act of sharing one's story, of findin

thors of a singular tale, their narratives weaving

ks as she laughed softly, the sound a clear bell

, his voice a low thrum that resonated with the honesty of his words. "Every story needs

ir own burgeoning connection. They walked back to the bookshop, not just side b

air like the softest whisper of turning pages. The evening out had not only offered sustenance for the body