"Christine, dokhtare man, could you organize the new books that came in this week? I haven't had the opportunity to do it, and I would greatly appreciate the assistance." Mr. Khan was a good-natured 49 year old man who had a full head of slightly-graying black hair, caramel colored skin, bright green eyes, and thick-rimmed glasses. He was the current owner of the Seminary Co-op Bookstore, a medium-sized place that housed one of the largest collections of academic books in the world, and as such, was also Christine's employer. She had started working there as soon as she had started her first semester in college in order to pay her tuition. Of the several jobs she had held in her life, working at the bookstore was easily her favorite. The store was close to both campus and her apartment, and it didn't require a whole lot of actual doing. Occasionally, like tonight, she had to organize a new set of books or help someone find something in particular, but for the most part, her job allowed her to sit there and do her homework or read a book in peace. Plus, she never worked crazy hours, and Mr. Khan was always understanding when she had to call off.

"Of course. You're talking about the boxes in the back, right?"

"Indeed. If you can't get them all sorted tonight, that's alright. I'll help you organize the rest of them later this week."

"No worries, Mr. Khan. I'm sure I can get it done." Christine shot him a smile.

"Perfect!" He began walking away before quickly turning back around. "I almost forgot. I'm leaving early tonight for a business dinner. Would you be so kind as to close up shop?"

"It would be no problem."

"Thank you." Mr. Khan gave her one his trademark, sincere smiles before sauntering back to his office.

After her boss left for the night, Christine made sure none of the customers needed any help before making her way to the back room.

"Yikes, this is going to take longer than I thought." Seven boxes filled to the brim with books sat on the floor in front of her. "Well, better get started then."

She opened the first one and emptied its books out onto the only table in the musty, old room. She decided that she could get done much faster if she divided them up into the shop's pre-existing categories before she tried to put them all on the shelves. It would prevent having to constantly run from one part of the shop to the other. Once the first box was fully sorted and placed onto the bookstore's one and only book cart, she walked back out to the common area. Quickly, she wheeled the books from section to section until they were all placed in their proper spots.

Before she returned to the back to start sorting the second box, Christine skipped to the counter at which she usually sat to fetch her headphones out of her purse. It was already eight o'clock, and she had some serious work to do. The music would help the tedious task go by quickly. As she walked to the back room, she plugged in her buds and searched for the perfect playlist. Torn between a few, she ultimately decided on her 90s rock collection. While 'Semi-Charmed Life' began to play, she tore into the second box.

Christine considered herself a music connoisseur. Since she had been a little girl, music was a large part of her life. Now, as a young adult majoring in Music at the University of Chicago, it had practically become as intrinsic to her person as her overly-compassionate ways. Her father had been a classical musician, and she had been taught from an early age to appreciate all manner of operas, concertos, waltzes, nocturnes, and the sort. Unfortunately, her father's preferences had also meant that, aside from a few folk songs, she hadn't been exposed to much outside of the classical realm while growing up. It wasn't until she took a Music in Western Civilization class during her first semester in college that she was properly introduced to all different genres of music and taught to appreciate them. She still held a special fondness for the classical stuff, but she had truly grown to enjoy all the varieties of rock, jazz, pop, and alternative albums. Now, as she did a little head bob and hummed along with her new music, she placed the second group of books on the cart and wheeled them out to the main room.

It was in this fashion that Christine finished organizing most of the books. She was carting out the last box of books when she noticed that only one customer remained, seemingly waiting for an employee so that she could pay for something. Christine rushed over, apologized for making her wait, and quickly checked her out. She then checked her watch and noted that it was already quarter to ten. Grinning softly to herself as she realized she was finally on her own, she began to play the air guitar and sing along with 'In Too Deep'.

Whipping her curly ponytail around, Christine closed her eyes and used her phone as a fake mic. Feeling content and free in her unobserved moment of fun, she reopened her eyes, shoved her phone in the back pocket of her jeans, and began to dance through the aisles of the shop while making sure no one left anything on the floor or on the small coffee tables. All too soon, the song ended, and with that, so did her 90s rock playlist. Swiftly, she pulled her phone back out to choose something new to listen to. As she looked down at her screen, she lazily continued walking forward until a pair of polished, black dress shoes entered her field of vision. Startled, Christine gave a little jump as she ripped her headphones out and looked up.

There he was, standing right in front of her. She hadn't noticed how tall he was when she saw him at the café, but he had been sitting at the time, so she supposed it would have been hard to tell anyway. Nevertheless, as she took him in from head to toe now, the first thing she noticed was that he seemed to stand an entire foot taller than her! His golden eyes practically glowed behind the white mask that was still fashioned to the right side of his face, and Christine noted that their breathtaking quality had not diminished upon looking at them a second time. The man's natural air of mystery was only augmented by the fact that he was wearing a perfectly tailored suit—silky black tie pinned down by an obsidian-tipped clip, crisp white shirt tucked under a patterned black vest, sleek black jacket, and black dress pants. His slicked-back hair was also jet black, almost giving him an appearance of being perpetually shrouded by shadows. Despite his many layers of dark, formal clothing, Christine could still tell that the man was quite thin. Even though it was nearly perfectly tailored, his fancy attire seemed to hang off of his frame ever so slightly.

Suddenly remembering herself, she realized that she had been shamelessly staring, and her cheeks flushed. Sheepishly, she turned her gaze down to her own feet. "Uh, sorry. I didn't know you were in here… nobody really comes in at this hour…" When she was met with silence, Christine awkwardly looked back up. "Do you need help finding something?"

"No, thank you. I am quite familiar with the shop." Christine furrowed her brows. She didn't remember ever having encountered him in all the time that she'd worked there.

"But I've never seen you here before."

"You wouldn't have. I am… well-acquainted with your employer, Mr. Khan. In fact, he is the reason I am here. Is he in?"

"No. He left pretty early today, said he had a business dinner. He'll be back in tomorrow, though."

The man nodded in response and gracefully turned to walk towards the foreign language section. Christine walked to the counter where she usually sat and tried to concentrate on anything but the stranger that was perusing several books. It was evidently a useless effort. She couldn't stop glancing up at him. His every move seemed to be riddled with a feline sort of grace, his lanky form belying some evident power. His demeanor was dark, but simultaneously poetic and almost musical. He appeared to move with the rise and fall of some unheard symphony, and Christine found herself entranced by his very presence. The man certainly wasn't the ideal image of male beauty by normal standards, but there was something about him and the way that he carried himself that Christine could not help but find oddly alluring.

It wasn't until he approached her with a book in hand and softly cleared his throat that she snapped out of her reverie. She lightly shook her head in order to clear it and took a book with an unfamiliar, foreign title from his gloved hand. Absently, she rung him up and told him his total as she wondered why he wore leather gloves indoors. She'd never seen that before. As she pondered the possible reasons for the man's mode of dress, he handed her some cash, told her to keep the change, and grabbed the book from the counter.

Before she could register what she was doing, she reached out, gripped the other end of his newly purchased book, and exclaimed "Wait! What's your name?" As soon as she saw him whip his head back around, she realized what she had done and instantly released the hardcover. For a few moments, he had looked deadly. He had seemed both extremely surprised and angered by her actions, but his face had returned to a neutral expression with a speed that could have only come from excessive practice. It was unsettling. "S-sorry, I didn't mean to be so forward..." Christine blushed. She seemed to love making a fool of herself in front of this stranger.

"Erik. My name is Erik." His lips quirked to a barely noticeable smile, if one could even call it that.

"Nice to meet you, Erik. My name is Christine." She stretched out her hand with a sincere smile on her face.

"A pleasure, Christine." He glanced at her hand, and instead of shaking it, regally bowed with a flick of his wrist. He met her eyes as he stood back up. "Good evening." He placed a hat low on his head and walked out of the shop and into the night.

All thoughts of going to Jamie's party forgotten, Christine closed up the store and began to walk home. She seemed to be unable to think of anything other than the strange masked man she had encountered twice in two days.

Erik.

A/N: "Dokhtare man" means my girl in farsi.