Chapter 0010: The Room with the Book That Knew Her Name
The next morning, I opened the book Leo had given me.
No title. No author.
Just a plain brown cover that smelled like dust and cinnamon.
The pages were thick. Soft at the edges, like they'd been loved too long.
And the first sentence made my heart stutter.
"Emma walked into the bookstore, not knowing it had been waiting for her."
I sat up straighter in bed.
The blanket slipped from my shoulders.
My hands… actually trembled a little.
I turned the page.
"She didn't know the boy behind the counter wasn't just a boy."
My breath caught.
I closed the book.
My heart was racing, like I'd run from something or toward something—I wasn't sure which.
I stared at the cover.
No name. No title.
But somehow… it knew mine.
It knew Leo.
It knew us.
Later that afternoon, I carried it back to the bookstore.
Tucked it under my arm like it was alive.
The bell over the door gave its usual soft sigh.
Leo was sitting on the floor near the classics section, legs crossed, surrounded by open books like he was building a nest made of words.
He looked up when I walked in.
Didn't even act surprised.
"You read it," he said.
"Did you write it?" I asked, holding it up.
"Nope," he said, voice calm as ever.
"The store writes what it needs to."
I raised an eyebrow. "That makes no sense."
"Neither does a bookstore with memory rooms," he said, brushing off his jeans as he stood.
"Or a photo from 1957 that shows someone who hasn't aged."
I didn't answer.
I just stared at him.
He stared back.
Something in me cracked a little.
Not in a bad way.
In that way things crack when light wants in.
"Do you want to understand?" he asked.
I nodded.
He held out a hand.
This time, I didn't hesitate.
He didn't take me to the back hallway.
He led me instead to a narrow door near the travel guides.
One I swear hadn't been there yesterday.
(But who knows anymore?)
It had a silver handle shaped like a half-moon.
When he opened it, it didn't lead to a room—
It led to a forest of books.
Shelves rising and falling like waves.
Books stacked sideways, upside down, glowing faintly like fireflies.
It was beautiful. Strange. A little bit wrong. And a little bit right.
Leo stepped inside. The shelves parted around him like he belonged.
I followed.
And the shelves closed behind us.
I spun around. "Hey—"
"It's okay," he said. "It opens when it wants to."
"Great," I muttered. "Love being trapped inside haunted libraries."
He chuckled. "That's the spirit."
We kept walking.
The deeper we went, the quieter it got.
Even the air felt hushed.
I saw books with no titles.
Books with titles that sounded like dreams.
"The Girl Who Forgot to Breathe"
"Storms We Never Survived"
"The Year the Stars Stopped Speaking"
Some books had my name on the spine.
Others had Leo's.
But he didn't stop.
Until we reached a round room.
It felt like a heart.
A living one.
Circular shelves surrounded us, and in the very center stood a stone pedestal with a single book.
Blue. No words on the front.
Leo stepped aside, letting me go first.
I stepped up to it like I was approaching a wild animal.
Touched the cover.
It was warm.
I opened it slowly.
Inside, in neat ink, I saw it:
Emma who stayed.
Emma who ran.
Emma who waited.
Emma who forgot.
Emma who remembered.
I turned the pages.
Each one showed a version of me.
Some I knew.
Some I didn't.
One where I never came to the bookstore.
One where I kissed Leo under the rain.
One where I burned a letter I never wrote.
Each version felt... possible.
"This is… me?" I asked, stunned.
Leo nodded. "You. All the versions you've been. All the ones you could be."
My eyes burned. "Why would the store keep this?"
"Because it doesn't just collect lost things," he said softly. "It remembers them. And sometimes, it lets us see what we've forgotten."
I flipped to the next page.
My fingers stopped.
This one was blank.
Except one sentence.
Emma who hasn't decided yet.
I looked up. "What does that mean?"
He looked sad. "It means you're still becoming."
I turned to him.
"What about you? Do you have a book?"
He hesitated.
Then said, "Yes."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
"Why?"
He looked away. "Because mine doesn't open anymore."
A long silence.
"Leo…" I whispered.
He finally met my eyes.
"I made too many promises I never kept. The book closed on me."
"Then make a new one," I said.
He stared at me.
"You don't get it," he said. "Some things… you don't come back from."
"Then let's not come back," I whispered.
"Let's go somewhere new."
Something flickered in his eyes.
Like a light in a window that had been off for too long.
He stepped forward.
Took my hand.
Held it like he meant it.
And the book on the pedestal flipped a page on its own.
New words appeared in shining ink:
Emma who stayed.
Leo who chose.
I touched the words.
My throat tightened.
The shelves around us began to move again, clearing a new path.
Leo looked down the hallway of books, then back at me.
"Where are we going now?" I asked.
He smiled.
"To the next part of the story."