The visitor and the vision
900 Words
Chapter Five: The Visitor and the Vision
The bookstore was theirs now.
Lila signed the paperwork with trembling hands, officially taking ownership of the place where their story had started. Adrian brought a bottle of sparkling cider to celebrate, and they toasted beneath the old hanging lightbulbs as if they’d just inherited a kingdom of pages and dreams.
They didn’t want to change much—just enhance it.
“This place should feel like home,” Lila said one night, sprawled on the rug with sketches and sticky notes around her. “Book readings, live poetry nights, a corner for kids… Maybe even an art display wall for local creators.”
Adrian nodded, drawing mockup signs in his sketchbook. “You could call it The Ink Room. A space for stories, old and new.”
They were excited. It felt like building a future—together.
But as with all dreams, life had a habit of testing the foundation.
---
It began with the bell above the door one rainy afternoon.
Lila looked up from the counter. A tall woman stepped inside, sleek black umbrella folded under her arm, her presence unmistakably sharp—like the click of heels in a silent hallway.
“Hello,” the woman said, brushing raindrops from her coat. “I’m looking for Adrian Hayes.”
Adrian, who had just emerged from the back room, stopped in his tracks. “Clara?”
Lila’s heart flickered. He hadn’t mentioned a Clara.
Clara smiled tightly. “It’s been a while.”
Lila watched from the counter as Clara handed Adrian a thick envelope and explained: she was a project manager for an art firm based in Berlin. They were launching a traveling artist residency program—and one of Adrian’s old professors had submitted his sketches without telling him.
“He thought your voice needed to be seen,” she said. “And it was.”
Adrian blinked at the envelope. “I was accepted?”
Clara nodded. “Six months. Full stipend. Gallery tours, studio time, mentorship. You’d be living in Berlin.”
Lila stood frozen, the air in her lungs still but sharp.
Clara’s eyes flicked to her, then back to Adrian. “We’d need to know in a week. We’d love to have you.”
Then she left, umbrella snapping open, heels clicking away through the puddles.
---
That evening, Lila closed the bookstore early. She didn’t ask Adrian anything. Didn’t press.
Instead, she restocked shelves in silence, heart thudding. She told herself this wasn’t the same as Marina’s letter. This was different. This was… opportunity.
But that didn’t stop the ache.
“I didn’t expect this,” Adrian said finally, watching her from the poetry aisle.
“I know,” Lila replied, her voice steady but small. “You’d be amazing there.”
He came closer, touched her arm gently. “I haven’t said yes.”
“But… you’re thinking about it.”
He paused. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
Lila nodded, eyes on the spine of an old poetry anthology. “Of course.”
Adrian swallowed. “I didn’t ask for this. And I didn’t know they’d submit my work.”
“You don’t have to explain,” she whispered. “It’s your dream.”
“I thought this”—he gestured to the store, to her—“was my dream.”
She looked at him then, really looked. “Maybe both are.”
They stood in the aisle surrounded by quiet stories and louder thoughts, the kind that couldn’t be silenced by a kiss or a promise.
“I don’t want to leave you,” Adrian said.
“But you might need to,” Lila replied.
And neither of them said I love you, but both of them thought it.
---
For the next few days, the shop was filled with a quiet uncertainty. They still brewed tea. Still shared poems. Still kissed beneath the skylight when the shop closed. But the questions hung like fog.
Lila didn’t want to be the reason he stayed if staying meant regret.
Adrian didn’t want to go if going meant losing her.
On the fourth day, Lila found a folded note in her favorite book of Rumi poems. It was Adrian’s handwriting.
---
“I used to think dreams had to be loud.
Big cities. Big names.
But then I met you.
And your silence became the loudest thing I ever heard.”
—A.
---
She held the note against her chest. Then she walked to the back of the store, where Adrian sat by the window sketching.
“I think,” she said, “you should go.”
His pencil stopped. “What?”
“I don’t want to lose you. But more than that, I don’t want you to lose yourself.”
He stared at her for a long time, eyes searching, heart heavy.
“Would you wait for me?” he asked.
She stepped closer. “I wouldn’t wait. I’d write. I’d sketch. I’d run the store. And when you come back, you won’t be returning to someone who paused her life. You’ll be returning to someone who grew with you—even from far away.”
Tears slipped down his cheek. “You’re incredible.”
She laughed through hers. “No, I’m just in love.”
And finally, the words were said.
- Writer
