Chapter One: The Bookstore

I wasn’t looking for anyone that day. Honestly, I was just killing time. The little shop in the San Francisco Ferry Building was tucked between a florist and a baker, lit like a secret. Smelled like rain, flowers and a dozen unread stories.

She didn’t rush either.

She came in like she belonged there—dripping coat, flushed cheeks, fingers already unfastening the top button like she needed to breathe. Her eyes flicked across the titles like they were old friends. She moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly where to find what she needed. And yet… she lingered.

Near the fantasy shelf, she reached for the same book I had just started to extend my hand toward…

Our fingers brushed. She didn’t flinch.

She looked up, met my gaze, and smiled like we were in on the same joke. “Everyone thinks they’re the first to find this one.”

“I wasn’t,” I said.

“But you wanted to be.” she replied quickly.

She let go of the book, letting me take it. Her fingers, warm from her gloves, brushed mine again—felt intentional this time.

“Do you ever think about how characters meet?” she asked, eyes lingering on mine. “Like… if the timing had been off by a second, the whole story wouldn’t exist.”

“All the time,” I said. “Those first pages matter more than people think.”

She nodded, thoughtful. “I like when they meet by accident. Like fate had to shove them together.”

“Even if it’s only for a chapter?” she asked curious.

“Especially then.” I replied, noticing how she was drawing me in with every question.

She smiled—something secret tucked behind it.

“I don’t usually talk to strangers in bookstores,” she said, almost like she was trying to convince herself it was a bad idea. Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. “But there’s something about you that makes it feel like I’ve met you before.”

I smiled. “Maybe in a past life. One with better weather.”

She laughed lightly, then caught herself and cleared her throat. “I’m not actually from here. I’m just in the city for the day. My uncle passed, and I have to go back home… to Petaluma.”

She paused, looking slightly embarrassed for a second, like she'd shared too much. but then continued anyways, “Apparently he left me his little farm. Chickens. A fig tree. I don’t know the first thing about either.”

Her voice trailed off into a quiet laugh.

I waited. Gave her space to decide what came next.

She blinked, then smiled like she’d forgotten why she came in at all. “Sorry, I didn’t even tell you my name, did I?”

“No,” I said, gently. “But I’m Ashen.”

She opened her mouth like she might respond, but a voice called from across the store.

“Honey, we need to go if we’re going to make the ferry!”

A woman—older, elegant, urgent—stood at the door, holding an umbrella.

She looked at me again, eyes dancing somewhere between regret and curiosity.

“I should go,” she said.

Then, just before stepping away, she leaned in with a smirk. “If this is a book,” she said, her voice just above a whisper, “maybe we’ll meet again in Chapter Two.” She took one step back, with a twinkle in her eyes. “You know where you could find me.”

She turned, buttoning her coat as her mother reached for her hand, tugging her gently but urgently toward the door. In her rush, she moved too fast—and something small slipped from her head.

A silver hairpin. Ornate. Velvet. Something that looked like one of a kind.

It hit the floor with the softest clink, but neither of them noticed.

By the time I realized what it was, she was already stepping into the storm, pulled along by urgency, by time, by a ferry that wouldn’t wait.

And just like that, she was gone.

I didn’t get her name.

But I got the feeling that this is a beginning.