A woman, adorned in a simple black cloak, entered with an air of mystique. Her eyes, melted pools of lava, met Allen's, and for a fleeting moment, he caught a glimpse of recognition. She knew him.
"Good evening," she greeted, her voice rich and magnetic. "I thoroughly enjoyed the novel you recommended last time. It was exactly what I’d been seeking. Is there perhaps a novel on similar topics?"
Allen, momentarily intrigued by the color of her eyes, nodded in acknowledgment. He pointed to the shelves without offering a verbal reply. He had no recollection of her at all. How would he know what book she purchased last time?
She glided into the aisles, her cloak trailing behind like a comet's tail. Unnecessary. Didn’t it ever get dirty being dragged across the ground?
Allen watched her disappear among the books, his thoughts returning to the word ‘transmigration’. He traced the word in his mind. His original world was vastly different from this current one considering his recent reactions.
A discovery prodded his tired mind. The mysterious woman had conversed with him at a time he no longer remembered. He pondered whether she might hold some answers to his ever-growing mountain of questions.
Despite an intense curiosity burning within, his lack of knowledge about his current identity and status kept his words restrained, locked at the base of his throat. This woman was not the same as David. She radiated an aura of confidence and danger that usually accompanied those accustomed to power.
The emergence of recent concerns amidst the remnants of forgotten memories couldn't be ignored. What if he wasn't truly ‘Allen’? What if the lost memories weren't even his own? He warned himself to proceed with caution until he uncovered more truths about the world.
The woman browsed the shelves with a discerning gaze. A fleeting glimmer of disappointment flickered across her ageless features after some time. She returned from the labyrinth of books a little less energetic than before.
"I apologize if the story you're looking for isn't available.”
However, to his surprise, the woman's eyes widened in realization. She turned her gaze toward the book Allen had been reading earlier—the book that he had randomly selected without much thought and had been too lazy to return.
"Ah, it seems I've been mistaken," she admitted, a smile playing on her lips. "The tale I seek is already in your hands."
~
Clutching a familiar book, the woman exited the store, her carefree smile replaced by a contemplative gaze as she glanced back at the place she had thrice visited. Her eyes lingered on the unassuming building labeled "Bookstore," her expression now unreadable.
Only she knew the shock that coursed through her body when she laid eyes on the book in His hands. Despite her initial awareness of the seemingly unremarkable bookstore owner holding secrets beyond mortal comprehension, it seems she had still underestimated His powers.
Under the night's quiet embrace, she contemplated the bookstore owner’s existence before dismissing the questions from her mind. She reminded herself of her role. It was a trivial price to pay for the new life He had bestowed upon her.
The growing mystical resonance that echoed through the store left her both intrigued and unsettled. The woman found herself cautiously treading the delicate balance between admiration and a subtle, unspoken fear.
Her footsteps receded into the distance, leaving the store cloaked in a hushed stillness. Unaware of the currents swirling around him, Allen readied himself for bed, savoring the simple joy of not needing to return the book to its place among the shelves.
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His worries disappeared once he sunk under the covers. Sleep, once again, welcomed him with open arms.
~
A black cat with bright blue eyes that seemed to glow in the night stared at the cloaked figure leaving the store. Her vertical pupils followed the figure until the lady disappeared around the bend. There was an intelligent gleam in her eyes as she licked her paw and swiped it through her fur.
Satisfied with her daily cleaning, she strutted over to the unassuming store and settled down on the steps.
~
“Morning.”
The little black cat purred contentedly as skilled hands stroked its head. It rolled over, exposing its belly to the man emerging from the bookstore.
“Good girl. Are you hungry too?” Allen needed more than just bread and jam to satisfy his grumbling stomach. For his first venture outside, he had gathered all his income from his recent sales.
After a few more gentle pats, he stepped over the cat. David had mentioned a grocery store nearby, and Allen hoped his funds would stretch far enough to cover his needs for a while.
The air was crisp, carrying with it the scent of dew-kissed grass. Birds chirped, their calls synchronizing as if engaged in a melodic conversation. Taking a moment to soak in the atmosphere, Allen closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
The aroma of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery wafted through the air, adding to the sensory delight. He promised himself he’d pay the bakery a visit once he had a more stable income.
The sun had climbed higher in the sky as he finished grabbing groceries and a couple of other necessities before he started his journey back to the bookstore.
The little black cat was still perched on the doorstep upon his return. He paused, looking down at the feline with a fond smile. A trace of sadness flashed across his eyes, disappearing before even Allen, himself, processed the emotion fully.
"Hello again, kitten," he murmured, crouching down to scratch behind the cat's ears. "I can't really afford another mouth to feed right now, you know?" The cat blinked up at him with innocent eyes, naive to the struggles of man. He hesitated before his eyes grew firm as his mind reminded him of his current situation.
Surveying the well-stocked kitchen, a feeling of achievement washed over him. He had managed to stretch his coin to the maximum, haggling with the store owner. He had long swallowed his pride and digested it as hunger for meat took over his simple mind. He is not a cow; he is a carnivore.
After making himself a simple lunch, Allen settled into the worn chair behind the counter after opening the bookstore for the day. Despite the absence of visitors, Allen didn't mind. He relished the solitude, finding comfort in the hushed atmosphere of his little haven.
Allen pulled out a notebook and pen, the blank pages inviting him to dive into a world of his own creation. The desire to write a novel had been tugging at him and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to indulge in that creative pursuit.
It also diverted his attention from financial worries. They buzzed around his mind like pesky flies despite his attempts at pretending nonchalance. He grew tired of futilely swatting them away only for them to return moments later.
His thumbs twitched involuntarily, missing the sensation of swiping and tapping, but Allen couldn't quite pinpoint why. He shrugged off the odd sensation and focused on the task at hand.
The bookstore, silent except for the scratch of the pen on paper, became a vessel for his imagination. The outside world faded away, leaving just him and his words.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the dusty windows, Allen emerged from his creative reverie. The doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of a late-afternoon visitor.
“Welcome.”
~
The last light from the fading sun glinted off the coins in Allen’s hand. The door jingled as the last customer left the store, signaling the end of the day. Business wasn't booming, but it was sufficient to make ends meet. Allen, looking over the deed to the building, felt a weight lifting off his shoulders.
He yawned as he stretched his sore shoulders. Writing, he discovered, was more mentally draining than he had anticipated. His newfound respect for writers grew.
Embarrassment flashed across his face as he remembered the attitude he used to carry. It had seemed so effortless when he was on the other side, consuming books with a passion. Books he could no longer recall.
Allen sighed. He decided to close the store early today. A twinge of guilt nagged at him, picturing a potential customer making the journey only to find the store closed. But there weren’t any official hours posted anywhere on the building, he comforted himself.
No visitors appeared as he completed his nightly routine. He kept a watchful eye from the upstairs window until he finished. Satisfied with his efforts, he returned to the comfort of his bed.
He fell asleep to the rumbling purrs of a new friend.