02 | A Glimpse of Light

The world consists of people who pass, each one with burden, thoughts and stories to tell. I'd always been fine with that. Interactions are just interruptions. They are temporary and meaningless.

That's what I at least thought.

But then, there was her.

I did not expect to see her again, so soon.

The sun was now starting to make its slow descent, and now it cast golden light through the windows of the bookstore. Late afternoon. I didn't come here for much, nothing in particular, just an escape, just a place to be free from expectation. Being comforted by old paper and ink had always been better for me than people being there.

Yet, I found her again as I walked past the shelves.

Her fingers traced down a spine, scrutinizing it from the inside, and her hands relaxed on a book, open with her in the same aisle, where she was before.

Before I could turn away, she noticed me.

She smiled and said, 'you again'.

I nodded; I had no idea how to respond. It was strange to be referred to in this way; to be reminded that I existed at all.

"Do you come here often" she said turning her head slightly.

"Yes."

My answer seemed exactly what she had expected and when she nodded, it almost seemed like she was the one who had been expecting it all along. "That makes sense."

I frowned. "Why?"

She glanced at me for a moment before shrugging. "After all, you can't help but have the impression that you would prefer books over people."

I couldn't argue with that.

"And you?" However, I wasn't sure why I was asking this.

"I love bookstores," she said. "Not just for the books, but for the silence. What is it, don't you think, it is a different kind of quiet? Not empty, but full."

It was an odd way to phrase it. Silence was silence; there was nothing there. To her it seemed to have meaning but.

Glancing at the book she was holding, she looked back at the man. "Have you read this?"

'Faith and purpose' was the title; I looked at it. "No."

She held it out to me. "You should."

I chose not to put it into my hands until I hesitated because I was curious why she wanted me to.

The words came out as a statement instead of a question, "You believe in God."

She nodded. "Yes."

"Why?"

My bluntness seemed to amuse her. "My gut feeling tells me that because I've seen faith can do."

I raised an eyebrow. "And what has it done?"

Her smile softened. "It's given me hope."

Hope. That word again.

It seemed like I wanted to tell her hope was an illusion, an excuse among people to gain some sort of sense of their suffering, to justify their pain. However, I found myself holding my tongue because something about how she said it seemed to imply foul play.

Instead I probed: What about if you were wrong? Would this then be the only life?"

She didn't flinch. "And once at least, I have spent my life thinking there was good in something."

I just stared at her waiting for the usual defensiveness, or at least eagerness to deny me. But there was none. She was just not trying to change my mind. It was just sharing a part of herself.

That was... new.

I gave the book back into her hand. 'I do not believe in what I cannot see.'

However, she took the book, not looking disappointed. "That's okay."

I frowned. "You're not going to argue?"

She shook her head. "Why would I? Faith isn't proved. They find it on their own."

I had no response to that.

She smiled again, and for some reason, it felt like warmth in a place I didn't know was cold. "See you around, bookstore guy."

And then she walked away, leaving me standing there, still holding the feeling of her presence like an echo I couldn't quite shake.

Two days later, I saw her again. Not at a bookstore this time, but in the café down the block from my place—the one where I first saw her.

Again she was sitting by the window, hands around a cup of coffee, staring out to the world as if it could tell all.

I don't know why I took that step.

"Have you been talking to the rain again?" I asked.

She leant her head up in surprise, then grinned. "Ah, bookstore guy."

I did not pay attention to the nickname and I sat across her. I don't know what about me, that made me do it—I don't sit with strangers. However, she wasn't feeling like a stranger anymore.

Just then she took a sip of her coffee and began to speak. "In a situation such as this, do you ever just watch the rain?"

"No."

She chuckled. "Of course not."

I leaned back in my chair. "What do you even see in it?"

Her eyes softened. "Peace. Renewal. A lesson that even the heaviest hurricanes end."

"You have a tendency to see meaning in things that there is none."

She shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you didn't see it yet."

I scoffed. "I don't need meaning."

She tilted her head. "Then why are you here?"

I opened my mouth and closed it. I didn't know the answer.

She smiled as if she already did.

After that, we sat there, watching the rain together, in silent. The quiet did not feel empty and it had been a long time since it did that.