“Dad…” he called him out, putting books inside a box.
His father only hummed as he keeps dusting the shelves, “What is it?”
“Why are you even staying here? Why don’t you just work to the other shop.” He asked him straight up, “you’ll gain nothing here. As if dusting those stupid shelves will give you money.”
Isaac didn’t mean to offend his father’s feelings and insult his job, but in his juvenile mind, he’s telling the truth.
“Isaac,” his father calls his name with flatness on his tone, “this bookshop is my friend’s and before he died, he wants me to take care of it. It’s the only legacy he has, and it’s more than a treasure.”
Even though how meaningful his father has said, Isaac didn’t bother to look deeper to the meaning of his father’s words, because all he cares is that he’s a
