Taking several turns in the streets, someone entered a curious shop.
"Ah, welcome, please come in," the shopkeeper called out, hearing the front door's bell chime. Their voice carried past shelves of books, aged yet well cared for without any sign of dust. Sunlight shined into the space at a perfect angle for illuminating an interior with curved shelves filled with tales from all over. Crystals hung from the ceiling, catching light and creating sparkling constellations dancing gently over everything. The owner shuffled out, wrapped in red robes with grayed hair pulled back into a ponytail. A bright face, wrinkled with lines formed from long smiles. Fierce eyes observed her visitor keenly.
"Well, you seem to be well traveled."
"How can you tell?" the Wanderer asked.
The shopkeeper grinned, tapping her nose. "Something I've learned a long time ago. Everyone can be read as easily as these books here. Your scuffed footwear, weathered attire, but it is your eyes that give your experience away. Their hidden knowledge burns with a hunger for more."
"It also helps I recognize your voice over the phone." She chuckled, the mystical tone faded to a jovial squeak while excited shuffled things below the counter. "I've been saving this one for… I honestly don't remember. All that mattered was knowing it eventually found its rightful owner, you."
A thin black book, almost resembling some journal was placed before the Wanderer. They both looked down at the item with excitement in their eyes. Feelings stirred; memories surfaced that were soothing yet jagged to recall from what no longer remained. The shopkeeper's wrinkled fingers gently covered the Wanderer's hand, full of warmth even at such an old age.
They helped to open the book.
"Let's read through it."
"A-Are you sure?" the Wanderer said nervously. "I-I'm happy enough to just buy it, really."
"How do you know what you bought until its seen?"
"I-It's… a little long." The Wanderer knew these excuses did nothing to stop this sudden action, but the Shopkeeper didn't appear to mind, she seemed to expect how difficult these actions would be.
"Well then, I guess I'm closing early." She stepped around the counter, flipping her sign to 'CLOSED' in the front door's window. The Wander's hand felt trapped, feet not moving despite a growing desire to do so.
"For this, we will have all the time needed."
That assurance broke through any resistance or anxiety. Acceptance was the only feeling remaining, the comforting hand on their shoulder made it easier to look down.
The book was a story of love. As they read words handwritten on paper yellowed with age, the Wanderer allowed their memories to come alive. Past, present, future, the very concept of time was swept away. All that mattered was the moment of traveling among stars.
