"Austen? Oh, you've got to be kidding me." Brown eyes narrowed on the spine of the book, a sigh of disgust escaping his lips. Not another Austen lover-god, wasn't there any other author these Literature wannabes could rally around? What about Coats or Hurston or Morrison? Hell, even Emerson would have been a better choice than Jane freaking Austen.

Michael Moscavitz was not, in fact, a literature nerd. He actually detested the English language-really any language, at least the kind that wasn't based in ones and zeros. The less talking he had to do, the better in his estimation. Machines and robots were simple creatures: program them correctly, they do what you want them to do. People were not. They were...unpredictable. Chaotic. Michael would have none of that.

Then why, perchance, was a man of his….interests working at a local bookstore? Money. It always came down to money (much to his chagrin, he might add). Nowhere in the surrounding area around Columbia University was hiring-especially not in his field. It was so competitive, so cutthroat, that the likelihood of even getting an interview was a pie in the sky dream. But his roommate, Boris, had an in with this local bookstore and they were looking for help. Michael was getting desperate for some sort of income-and the store allowed him to work on his research with minimal distraction, so it seemed like the lesser of two evils. Significantly less.

But his time at the bookstore had also provided him some time to develop some radical opinions about the authors most perused on the store's shelves. Austen, Bronte, Byron and Twain were some favorites currently, thoroughly picked over each time he went to go straighten shelves. It baffled him really; how so many readers could flock to the same tired story time and time again. Like honestly, what did a grumpy aristocrat and a sassy commoner really have going for them? Usually, he kept his comments to himself-you're paid to sell books, not speak on them Moscovitz. At least, that's what the owner, Shiv Patel, would remind him anytime he caught wind of an under-the-breath opinion that slipped through.

For some reason, though, this comment passed through his lips with ease and no second thought. He hadn't even looked at the person picking up the book-but he could envision what they might look like.

"Excuse me?" A sharper tone cut through his thoughts and he lifted his eyes from the novel to the person holding it.

In Micahel's mind, she would be a blonde English major with her hair in a bun and glasses (though, Michael thought, if they were perspecripton or not would be anyone's guess). She'd have a few books in her arms, precariously juggling them instead of asking to hold them behind the counter as she finished her shopping. She'd likely have seen Pride and Prejudice the movie a few times (and have an adamant opinion that the BBC television version was far superior to the Keira Knightly version) and would share, without prompt, that the line "incandescently happy" was not, in fact, in the novel.

This woman, however, was decidedly not juggling too many books and definitely not blonde.

Shit, Michael thought. She wasn't going to let this go, that's for sure. "Sorry, I, uh, just have seen a lot of people pick up Austen lately." He rubbed his neck and shot the girl a slight smile.

Her curly brown hair bounced as she shook her head in protest. "You're not sorry. You said your opinion so decidedly that you're definitely not sorry." She repeated, a small ghosting over lips before they reformed into a straight line again. "What do you have against Jane Austen? She's a classic." She tapped the book with the back of her hand to emphasize her point.

"She's boring." Michael shot her a look, as if that explained everything. "Have you read what she writes? It's 10,000 pages of the biggest words she can think of smushed together in 'coherent' sentences. I don't care who you are and what you've written, no one is important enough to be required to shlog through that insufferable amount of prose."

"Sounds like you had a pretty terrible relationship with your English teachers growing up, huh?" The woman replied, her grin now finding itself to be a bit stronger on her face.

"What, are you trying to diagnose me with English teacher issues? I wouldn't have pegged you for a psych major, but to each their own."

"No, I just find you railing against being required to read Austen as a tell-tale sign you never actually read Austen. Not really."

"Oh, please save me the 'if you really read her you would know' bullshit." Her eyebrow raised and Michael felt his cheeks get hot. If he wasn't supposed to tell the customer's his opinions, he definitely wasn't allowed to curse in front of them. However, she didn't look too phased by his slip of the tongue.

"I just think you're conflating a bad K-12 experience with the meaning behind the author's work." The brunette shrugged, placing the book back on the shelf (much to Michael's surprise). "So, you're not an Austen fan. What do you suggest in place of her?"

He stared at her for a moment-both intrigued by her willingness to engage with a man who had disrupted her book searching and slightly annoyed that she had asked him that question. He knew working in a bookstore, someone would ask him every once in a while, but he hated it everytime. Mostly because it reminded him time and time again that he did not belong in this store-he could care less about stuffy authors and their reputations. The hierarchy of what was considered "respectable" literature pissed him off endlessly.

Michael thought about feeding her his canned answer: McCormac McCarthy, he wrote The Road. I appreciate his style of writing and the centering on an apocalyptic experience. But there was a small voice in his head that nudged him to think she might see right through that. So instead, after his brief pause, he motioned his head and waved his hand. "Follow me."

The woman, to her credit, simply shrugged and walked behind him, keeping her slight distance to not crowd them through the skinny stacks. He was sure that in a moment he'd lose her, when they'd arrived in front of a large bookshelf full of novels with unpronounceable names not found in any real language.

Once again, his eyes scanned the slightly dusty spines of the books until he found the 'S' section. "Ah, there-Stackpole." He slipped the book out of its place and handed it to her, preparing for her shock and dismay. It wasn't like Star Wars novelizations got literature aficionados very excited-Michael knew this.

Her gaze landed on the book, then him and finally on the book again before letting out the loudest laugh Michael had ever heard. So loud, that people started staring in their direction. Pretty instantly, she realized just how loud it was and she quickly clasped her hand over her mouth, turning red hot with embarrassment. Michael liked the way her eyes lit up when she laughed though-wait, what was he doing?

"Sorry," She replied softly, and took the book out of his hands. "I just didn't peg you for a Stackpole guy. This fella is hefty-not an easy read. I prefer Bloodline, honestly-I know it focuses more on canon than I, Jedi, but I like the characterization of Leia and how they fleshed out her connection with Anak-er, Vader, I guess."

Michael blinked a few times, really looking at the human being standing in front of him. She didn't look like a nerd (though, what did a nerd actually look like, he couldn't tell you). She looked like the kind of individual who spent their time doing art pieces for a local gallery or picketing lines for Greenpeace. She definitely didn't strike him as the kind of person to spend hours reading super science fiction novels based on a universe from the 1970's-no matter how much a part of pop culture Star Wars was, Michael was keenly aware it would never be the coolest thing to read published fanfiction on it.

"Ah-did I catch you in a stereotype?" Again, there was a hint of humor laced in her voice, clearly amused that he was at a loss for words. "Bet you really thought you were doing something bringing me over to the science fiction section, huh? I wish you could see the look on your face-it's absolutely priceless."

Michae shook his head and regained his composure. A slightly flush came over his cheeks as he nodded. "Yeah, I didn't-I didn't think anyone really read this stuff. I mean, I know Star Wars is becoming more popular but lore? Who has time to read that?"

"I read it back in high school, actually. It was a whole thing-my mom had to literally pry the book out of my hands when it was meal time. There was a strict no reading policy at the dinner table on week three." She paused, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear-the first time he noticed she looked nervous in their conversation. He wondered why now-was there something going on between her mom and her?

Why the hell did he care about that?

"I also read them in high school, funnily enough. My sister and I-we did a whole reading competition to see who could finish the books faster, but we had these weird little checkpoints to prove we were actually reading." Michael laughed lightly-he'd never told someone that before. He thought the story was so innocuous that no one would want to hear it, but talking with this girl-perhaps someone did.

"So maybe I was wrong about you-that seems like a English teacher's dream." She winked, joining him in his laughter. There was such a freedom in her giggle that he had never quite heard before-something airy and musical. He supposed (and just for a moment, he swore) that he could perhaps understand why Austen would want to use so many words to describe how Darcy feels about Elizabeth-it's hard to fully capture everything he felt in that moment.

Not, of course, that he loved her-he didn't even know her name. How could anyone fall in love without that information at least. He just simply...could maybe see why Austen was so verbose. That's all.

"Wow, a nerd who's also humble enough to admit her mistakes? Color me impressed." He smirked and took the book from her hands to place it back on the shelf. "So, you're clearly a Star Wars fan enough to read lore-but don't tell me you're a Solo girl."

The woman placed her hand on her chest in mock aghast. "Oh god, is that how I present?" She shook her head wildly again, moving her hand back to her side and looked over at him. "Nah, Han is a good character, but a sarcastic rogue is….so 2015." She winked and once again Michael was intrigued by her. Not a Solo fangirl? He'd gotten her wrong again-and he liked it.

Micahel thought for a moment. "No-you're not a Solo girl, you're right. You're an Anakin Skywalker groupie."

Her cheeks flushed red and she bit her lip. She looked rather cute when she was bashful. "How did you guess?"

"You called him Anakin-not Vader. You strike me as the kind of girl who is a sucker for a redemption arc."

"A sucker for a redemption arc? What does that even mean?" The woman raised her brow at Michael in curiosity. "Am I a woman who appreciates when a story comes full circle and there is growth and development in a character? Sure-absolutely. Is it insanely satisfying to watch Anakin go from small child, kind and generous to his peak moody and evil version and then end at this loving and caring father that Luke always wanted? Duh. Tell me a better character arc than that-just try and tell me one. I'll wait."

Michael bit back a laugh as she watched her cross her arms over her chest. "But he killed younglings. Like, purposefully."

"Anakin Skywalker was brainwashed first of all-and yes, yes he makes his choices from his own free will, but only because of his intense connection with Padme. Which directly connects to his relationship with his mother-and before you make some dumb joke about 'mommy issues', may I remind you that Shmi Skywalker was the only family Anakin ever had and he was taken from her at 8 years old and raised by Jedi's who literally practice and preach the rejection of love. So when Anakin feels love-both toward Padme and from Padme, of course he is going to do whatever he can to protect her. Even if he ends up fulfilling a self fulfilling prophecy. And yes, he did a bad thing-but he more than paid for it. Anakin Skywalker is the epitome of a tragic hero-"

He could help but let out laugh out at this point-not in mockery but rather in childlike delight. The brunette stopped speaking immediately and looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. He put his hands up in defense, though it took a few more minutes before the chuckle actually died down.

"No, No i'm not laughing at you-I just, it's been a really long time since I've ever heard someone talk so...passionately about a fictional character before." The woman opened her mouth to defend herself but Michael shook his head and continued. "It's….damn refreshing."

It was her turn to look at him, dumbfounded. It occurred to him that perhaps not everyone that she shared her thoughts to about Anakin was as...impressed and pleased to hear it. He couldn't put his finger on why, but that seemed to enrage him in a way he'd never felt before. Frankly, he could listen to her go on about this all day if given the chance.

Did he want the chance?

"Well, uh, thanks. I've had a lot of time to think about this." She shrugged, choosing not to go into detail about why that might have been the case.

"So you watched them in chronological order the first time, huh?" Michael grinned.

"I-yeah. My mom didn't explain to me which way I should have watched them, so logically I just started from Episode 1 onward. H-how did you know that?"

"Most people who have a connection to Ani usually have watched his arc from childhood to death-which makes sense. You saw the innocence before the tragedy, why wouldn't you connect with a character like that deeply?"

"Ok, fine. You read me. So what, you're definitely not a Leia guy. Wait-don't tell me, you're an Artoo fanboy."

MIchael smiled broadly and shook his floppy brown hair. "No, though he's a pretty sick little droid. IF we're talking droids, I'm actually a huge fan of K-2SObecause I love a sassy robot."

"Don't-no way." She stopped for a moment and just looked at him. He furrowed his brows.

"What's so weird about liking K-2SO? I mean, I know he is from a newer Star Wars movie but technically he's not that much older than C3PO, right. Sure, he looks-"

"No-you're an Ani guy aren't you? That's why you weren't freaked out by my analysis."

He looked at her-locking his brown eyes with hers and they both smiled at the same time. "Caught me." Michael replied softly, blinking a few times before pulling his gaze away. The longer he stared at her, the weirder his chest felt.

"So, you watched them in chronological order too?"

"Don't tell the head nerds-they'll take my license away and I really can't have that. I just got it back from the whole 'not watching Into the Spiderverse until two weeks ago' ordeal."

"Wait-you didn't? What the hell took you so long?" The woman gaped at him and he waved his hand in a nonchalant manner

"I mean, unlike you literature weirdos, I actually have homework." He winked, trying to make sure she realized he was teasing (though, if he was being honest-he wasn't completely making a joke).

"Right, because reading a whole novel in a week is nothing compared to…" She trailed for a moment, doing a once over on him. "Staring at math problems all day?"

Now it was his hand that went to his chest, responding dramatically to her claim. "Oh, you wound me." She gave him a look and he nodded once. "Not exactly. I'm a double major in computer science and engineering. So, I do a lot of math but not...like that."

"Sounds riveting."

"Ah, not the English major with a pun." She smirked slightly, realizing he'd caught her in the act.

"Y'know, for a science geek, you're pretty quick with word play.

"Does that mean I have your approval, O' Mighty Wordsmith." Michael knelt down slightly at her knees. He glanced at her face-surprised to see the slightest look of anguish before it flitted away just as quick as it came.

"Perhaps. I'll need more data to make a conclusive statement." She chuckled and gone were any signs of distress from a moment ago.

"Now that's speaking my language." He winked and then paused. "I feel like I should know the name of the scientist conducting the research. Y'know, for proper credit."

The woman looked at him for a moment, as if she was contemplating something intense. After a second of silence, she reached her hand out. "My name is Mia. Just Mia."

Michael took her hand and shook it firmly. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you just Mia."

Mia smiled softly, before shooting him a pointed look and whispering. "Now's the part where you give me yours." She winked.

He looked at her again, that feeling in his chest growing tighter-he really needed to get that checked out-and chuckled. "Michael. Just Michael."

Mia grinned at the reply. Ah, so she wasn't sick of him just yet.

"So, Just Michael. Do you make it a habit of commenting on the author preferences of customers?"

"Guess you'll have to wait and see until next week, princess"

And with that he turned on his heel, leaving the brunette to watch him make the only cool existence Michael Moscovitz had done in his entire life.

He only hoped that there would be a next week-but he had the strangest feeling that if he were to have been asked to bet the house on it, he'd do it in a heartbeat.