Silent Wars
771 Words
(Valerie’s POV)
Marrianne always walked away first.
I stared at the empty space she left behind, the air still carrying the faintest trace of her presence. She had a way of storming out like she was the one wronged—like I was the villain in whatever silent war she was fighting.
With a sigh, I took another sip of my coffee. Bitter. Fitting.
This wasn’t new. We had been like this for as long as I could remember—her throwing words like daggers, me catching them without complaint. I wasn’t blind to her frustration, her sharp tongue that cut before it could be stopped. But I had never been one to fight back.
Maybe that was the problem.
The sound of the clock ticking filled the quiet kitchen. 7:30 AM. I had time before work, but no motivation to move.
My eyes flickered to the doorway she had walked through, my mind drifting back to her last words. Forget it. You wouldn’t get it.
That was the thing—she never let me get it.
Every time I tried, every time I reached out, she pulled away. She pushed me to the edge of patience, waiting for me to snap back, to match her fire with fire. But I never did.
Not because I didn’t want to.
Because I was terrified of what would happen if I did.
With a slow inhale, I pushed myself off the chair, pouring the rest of my coffee down the sink. There was no use thinking about things that would never change.
Marrianne would always be the one walking away.
And I would always be the one letting her go.
*************************
The soft chime of the bookstore bell rang, barely audible over the rain tapping against the windows. I glanced up from the counter, expecting another elderly customer looking for their usual classic novel. Instead, I saw a girl shaking her umbrella violently, sending droplets flying in every direction—including onto a perfectly arranged display of newly arrived books.
"Ah, crap!" she muttered, realizing the damage she had just caused.
I sighed, setting down my pen. Of course.
Rushing over, I grabbed a tissue from the counter and started dabbing at the wet book covers. She did the same, her fingers moving clumsily as she tried to wipe them dry without making things worse.
"I'm so, so sorry," she said, biting her lip. "I swear, I wasn’t trying to baptize your books."
I raised an eyebrow at her dramatic choice of words. "Really? Because they sure look like they just got an impromptu rain blessing."
She let out a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. "Okay, fair. But in my defense, my umbrella had a mind of its own."
I gave her a look but decided not to push it further. She looked guilty enough.
"I'll have to let these dry before someone complains," I said, stacking the damp books to the side.
"Let me help," she offered quickly, reaching for another tissue.
I shook my head. "You’ve done enough."
"That bad, huh?" She grinned sheepishly.
Instead of answering, I simply gave her a small smirk before walking back to the counter. She followed, hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie, rocking on her heels as if debating whether to stay or leave.
"So… do you guys sell cookbooks?" she asked suddenly.
"Yeah, they're in the back, past the romance section," I replied, pointing behind her.
She turned to leave, then paused. "Wait. Romance section? Like... the super cliché ones?"
I nodded, waiting for her reaction.
She groaned dramatically. "Great. Nothing like walking past a dozen covers of shirtless guys staring into your soul while trying to find a decent pie recipe."
That made me chuckle. "The horror."
She gasped playfully. "You get it! Finally, someone who understands."
I leaned against the counter. "You're saying you've never fallen victim to a cringey romance novel?"
"Never!" she declared, placing a hand over her heart. "Well… okay, maybe once. But it was for research purposes."
"Sure," I said, amused.
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "I'm Evelyn, by the way. I work at the bakery a few blocks down. Part-time job, full-time cake thief."
"Valerie," I replied. "Full-time bookseller, part-time book saver from umbrella disasters."
Evelyn laughed, the tension from earlier fading completely. "Well, Valerie, consider this my formal promise to never attack your books with rain again."
"I'll hold you to that."
And just like that, an unlikely friendship was formed—over wet pages, sarcastic remarks, and a shared dislike for overly dramatic romance covers.
- Writer
