Page 85 of Before Dawn

S:Sounds like a cozy day. What did you get?

S:Send me a haul. I wanna see.

This was one of the very times I wondered if he was real. Never have I ever come across a man this interested in me.

Me:Okay!

Me:*video attachment*

And as I expected, he watched and responded to every single thing I bought which had me kicking my feet and squealing into the pillow he got me.

Me:How was your day?

S:Exhausting. I had meetings all morning and then rushed to finish signing some paperwork in the afternoon, went to the gym with my friends then had an interview.

S:I’m home now, so I get to unwind for a bit.

Me:That sounds hectic but, I’m glad you’re finally getting some downtime.

S:Me too, but talking to you is definitely the highlight of my day.

Me:Flattery I tell you.

S:I aim to please you.

Me:My dad sold my car, btw.

S:How are you feeling about that?

Me:It feels like I’ve finally let go of a part of me I should’ve a long time ago.

S:Here’s to a new start, then.

Me:To a new start.

S:What’s next on your agenda for the evening?

Me:Probably just more laziness. Maybe order some takeout and see where the night takes me.

S:Sounds tempting.

Me:It’s really not.

We talked until he had to leave for a meeting, and I was amazed at how he could leave me speechless yet make me feel like I could talk to him forever. With just a sentence, he made me smile, slowly mending the brokenness in my heart. Still, a worry lingered—would he turn out like Joshua? Once had been hard enough; I couldn’t bear another heartbreak. But I pushed the thoughts away, reminding myself that, though love and loss were daunting, it was worth the risk to open up again.

Warning

The following chapter contains heavy mentions of mental health/physical health issues. Please refer to the content warning list to be reminded of any potential triggers. Your well-being is important to me, so please take care of yourself while reading.

Chapter Nineteen

Abigail-Ann

“At the touch of love, everyone becomes a poet.”

~Plato

The bookstore was quiet, the kind of stillness that amplified every rustle of a page and every sigh I let escape. It was my third week working at Book Culture, and though I was getting the hang of it, anxiety still gripped me tightly. Was I shelving books too slowly? Did I smile enough at customers? Did my coworkers think I was weird?

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