chapter 9. The Bookstore of Warm Light
450 Words
Arielle stood in the middle of the sidewalk, soaked from the melting snow on her coat, still replaying the collision with Noah in her mind. His voice. His eyes. That strange, magnetic warmth that felt… familiar, but impossible.
Her cheeks still burned when she noticed the snowstorm worsening again. Wind whipped against her face, sharp enough to sting.
“Perfect,” she muttered. “From fired to frozen. At this point, the universe should just send me a manual.”
A gust of wind shoved her sideways, and she stumbled—right into a dim alley she had never seen before.
And then she saw it.
A soft glow spilled into the snowy street from a tiny shop window. Fairy lights twinkled around the doorframe. A wooden sign swung gently, even though the wind had stopped.
FROST & INK
Books, Wishes, Warmth
Arielle frowned. “Wishes? Seriously?”
But the warmth leaking from the doorway pulled at her—soft, golden, comforting. Like stepping into a memory she never lived.
She pushed the door open.
A bell chimed—a slow, musical ring that lingered in the air longer than it should have. And suddenly everything felt… still.
The bookstore looked like something out of a Christmas movie: shelves stacked with old novels, strings of lights glowing like tiny stars, and a fireplace crackling gently beside a velvet armchair.
It was beautiful. Safe. Magical.
“Hello?” she called softly.
No answer—just the soothing sound of a page turning somewhere in the back.
She wandered deeper, trailing her fingers along spines of books that looked older than time. Every title felt oddly relevant to her life:
“The Girl Who Lost Her Luck.”
“How to Start Over in December.”
“When Fate Gets Tired of Waiting.”
She shivered. Coincidence? Maybe.
Then she stopped.
A single book sat displayed on a small round table, illuminated by a beam of golden light.
Arielle leaned closer.
“The Chronicle of Arielle North.”
Her breath vanished.
“No…”
She touched the cover. Warm. Almost alive.
The pages flipped on their own. One. Two. Three.
A paragraph glowed:
“On this day, she will meet the man who changes her fortune.
One who knows her already.
One she is meant to remember.”
Arielle stumbled back. “What is this? How—?”
A shadow moved near the doorway behind her.
She froze.
And then Noah stepped out of the dim shelves, hands in his coat pockets, looking like he’d known she would be here all along.
“Arielle,” he said softly, “I was waiting.”
The book snapped shut.
Her heart did, too.
- Writer
