Fate's Quiet Whisper

The smell of crisp paper and bound leather still hung in the frigid fall breeze when Mary exited her beloved bookstore. The city felt more contemplative tonight even as London was its usual bustling. The setting sun painted the sky orange and pink, making everything radiant. The breeze was soft, ruffling the leaves already beginning to descend a golden carpet strewn over the cobbled roads. Clutching a freshly acquired book to her chest, Mary felt the comforting familiar sensation of paper and ink close to her skin. Books were getaways more than just tales for her. They could spirit her to various planets and offer her tranquility that she seldom finds in the current world. She had always been a reserved observer, someone who favored the pages of a book to the anarchy of social life. Tonight, though, something felt changed. Perhaps it was the evening's clarity or the way the light appeared to keep everything in a fragile, nearly magical equilibrium. Across the street in a*****e window, her eyes quickly saw the well-used cover of a book she had adored years back as she strolled down the street. She had a surge of nostalgia as she stopped to let it permeate. Lost in thought, she didn't spot where she was heading, and she collided with someone before she could even realize it. The effect knocked her book out of her hands; she cried and hurriedly bent over to pick it up. Her face reddened with shame; she murmured, "Oh! I'm so sorry." She stood straight. A deep, comforting voice answered, “No, it was my mistake.” Neither where I was headed nor my observation. Mary glanced up, startled by the biopic. A man in a casual navy jacket stood in front of her, his friendly brown eyes meeting hers with an apologetic smile. With a gentle grin, he presented to her the book. "Seems to be an evening book sort of thing." With her pulse suddenly racing, she smiled nervously. It is indeed. Really among my preferred ones. With a glimmer of recognition in his eyes, the man turned down the title on the cover. "Good choice, 'Whispers of the Heart,'" he said warmly and invitingly. Mary's surprise fluttered. She asked a bit incredibly, What do you know? Mary's pulse raced in a way she was not quite ready for. She looked at the book in her hands as if it could offer her the answers somehow; so why was she so anxious? Trying to keep herself together, she said, "You should read it sometime." A kid's voice broke in before he could answer. "Ryan Bhai!" The man turned to find a small boy, not older than six, with outstretched hands dashing toward him. Bending down to gather the boy into his arms, he beamed with love. He glanced back at Mary with a sheepish grin and said "Looks like responsibility calls." "Be good and have fun during the remainder of your day." He started to walk away with a final wave, darling nestled snugly in his arms. Long after he vanished into the audience, Mary observed them leave and the warmth of his smile remained great. Something about him struck me... I know. Still, she knew she had never encountered him before. Trying to rationalize the sensation in her chest, she shook her head. It could have been her unusual, practically magnetic pull she felt when their eyes locked. Although it didn't fit, she couldn't, for some reason, dismiss the idea that their meeting wasn't entirely a random event. The fall breeze swept her ideas around her feet, and she walked the rest of the way home.