Chapter 9 – The Promise Leo Never Kept
It's been three days since I found the photograph.
Three days since I saw Leo's face in a photo from 1957.
Three days since everything kind of shifted.
He still looks the same.Still makes tea the way I like it. Still moves around the shop like he's part of it. Still wears that same soft little smile... the one that feels like it's hiding something but in a gentle way.
But now when I look at him, I can't stop thinking — who are you, really?And why are you still here?
"You're staring," he said, voice all quiet, still focused on the books he was stacking behind the counter.
I blinked. Oops.
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure you out."
That made him glance at me. Just for a second.
And there it was again — that look. Like a flicker. Like something passed behind his eyes and vanished before I could catch it.
"You won't," he said. "Not all the way."
I smiled a little. "Is that a challenge?"
He smiled too, but not really. Just his mouth moved a bit. "It's a promise."
And I don't even know why, but those words made my chest feel weird. Like something fluttered inside it.Or dropped.I don't know. Lately it feels like just standing next to him is like standing near...I don't know, a cliff maybe. Or a memory.Something deep and old and... waiting.
That afternoon, the shop was extra quiet. Even the sound of pages turning felt soft. The old clock in the corner ticked like it was shy.
I walked toward the back room again.
The wall was still just a wall.
But every time I passed it now, it felt like it buzzed a little.Like it knew I knew.Or maybe I was just going crazy.
When I came back up front, Leo was moving some books into the classics shelf. His fingers brushed over the spines like they were glass.
"Can I ask you something?" I said.
He looked up and nodded.
I pulled the photo from my coat pocket. I'd been carrying it everywhere since that night. Couldn't explain why, really. It just felt... important.
"You said this shop keeps things people leave behind," I said. "But this... no one left this. It's you. From a long time ago."
He didn't say anything. Didn't even move.
"Do you believe in magic?" he asked after a second.
My heart gave a weird little squeeze.
"I don't know what I believe anymore," I whispered.
He stepped closer.Just a bit.
"I was twenty-three in that photo," he said softly. "It was the last time I left this bookstore."
I waited for more.Waited and waited.
But that was all he gave me.
"Why?" I asked.
He looked away, toward the window.
That's when I noticed his hands.
They were trembling. Just a little. But I saw it. For the first time — Leo looked... not calm.
"I made a promise," he said. "To someone I couldn't save."
My throat felt tight. "Someone you loved?"
He didn't answer.
But the silence was full. Full of all the things he wasn't saying.And I could feel it, in my stomach and in my bones.
That night, I stayed after closing. I told myself it was to help reorganize poetry. But really, I didn't wanna leave.Not him.Not the feeling.Not the rain, which had started tapping against the windows like little fingers.
Leo lit a candle at the front desk. Its glow made him look different — like older but softer.
"Can I show you something?" he asked.
I nodded.
He took my hand.
It was warm. Steady.
But it felt... old. Not bad-old, just... like his hand had held a thousand other hands before mine. And remembered them all.
He led me to the back. Past the wall. Past the shelves that always seemed to move when I wasn't looking.
To a little door. I swear it wasn't there yesterday. Or maybe it was. Who knows anymore.
It looked like a closet. Nothing special.
He took out a tiny copper key. Opened the door.
Inside... a staircase. Twisting down.
"Where does it go?" I asked, barely louder than a breath.
Leo looked at me. That look again — the one that knew too much.
"Somewhere memory can't always follow," he said.
We went down.
The stairs were narrow. Lanterns hung on the walls, flickering like stars.I didn't count how many steps.Just followed him. Felt my heartbeat in my ears.
Finally, we reached a wooden door.
There was a symbol carved into it. Like a star wrapped up in vines.
Leo touched it, gently, with his fingers. Then opened the door.
Inside…
I don't even know how to explain.
The air was full of floating lights — like little glowing fireflies made of glass. They shimmered when we moved.
And the walls... shelves. So many shelves.
Books. Drawings. Little objects.
Everything labeled with names and dates.
I stepped closer to one shelf.
My heart stopped.
Emma.
Inside the glass box: the letter I wrote to Dad two years ago. My red sketchbook. That photo of me and Mia from our last summer trip.
All of it. Things I'd lost. Or thought I had.
"This place... it's not just about memory," Leo said behind me. "It's what we keep inside. What we hide. What we owe."
I turned to him, my voice shaking. "What do you owe, Leo?"
His smile cracked at the edges.
"Someone who walked in... and never came back out."
I wanted to ask more, but... I didn't.
The sadness in him was heavy. But under it, like way under it... was something else.
Hope.
Small. Quiet. But it was there.
I reached for his hand again.
This time, he held on tighter.
Like maybe he was the one who didn't want to let go.
Later, we sat on the stairwell in silence.
He said, "If you walk far enough into the bookstore… it stops being about books."
I leaned my head on his shoulder.
"And starts being about the people who need them," I whispered.
He smiled, real small. "Exactly."
The candlelight danced.
The air smelled like books and cedarwood and... something sweeter I didn't have a name for.
"I'm not scared," I told him.
"I know," he said.
And this time... his voice trembled.
"I think that's why you're here."