Between the Lines

story home whispered early 20th-century tales. Ivy-draped its brick facade, and a sign above the porch read Chapter &

ding path of uneven cobblestones led to a porch where creaky wooden steps and a rocking chair by the door waited like old frie

ably magical like the pages themselves were alive. It was intoxicating, like my personal meth. Dad always said t

so in artful stacks on tables, windowsills, and even the staircase. I ran my fingers along the spines, each title like a whispered invitation. The world outside ceased to exist at that moment. The honking of

l had its bed, now draped in a quilt and pillows for anyone to lounge with a novel. Another boaste

mugs, and cookie jars, while a wooden counter served up coffee and pastries. The breakfast n

shading wrought iron tables where summer readers gathered. At the garden's edge, an old shed h

had always been this way. Visitors often lost themselves here, for

echoing through the stor

ans

ad

y bun loose. After snagging a chocolate bar from the café, I grabbed a book from

ce opened, can

ly hyperaware of the sunlight slanting through the windows and the dust m

the craziest day of my life, hallucinating in broad daylight", I thought within my subconscious. The most beautiful hazel eyes stared back at me, shocked at my reaction to seeing her. She smiled

f in it. It had that mixture of power and gentility in it... oh! nah, I am

fabric flowed like liquid elegance, each seam a testament to meticulous craftsmanship, as though it were fashioned for royalty or perhaps a goddess in disguise. It radiated

y reality. But I wanted to be close to her, for the first time, I wanted someone to be my friend. I think it was because she wa

r difficult it seemed for me. She told me she was looking for one of the series by the author Sarah J. Maas, the book 'Court of Wings and Ruin'. I walked her to the shelf which contains fantasy-romance books and went back to the cou

blew a pink bubble. In her other hand, she held a leather-bound journal with a gold

e curled her lips into a smi

*

as about to call him when the bell jingled and voilà, there he was, looking like a lost lamb in the forest. I quickly ran to him and held his hands " Dad

pulling me into a mean hug. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry," was all he kept saying. I allowed the

yes. He was quiet at first. he just stared deep into my eyes, from a thou

loudly. his voice was soft but the weig

ut

. "You told me not to come, but old habits

baby." I wanted to cry too. I was hoping and

me. I'm so sorry I couldn't provide you with a better life, nor could I protect you enough." His eyes changed suddenly, from pity to trust, faith, maybe hope, "But here's what I want you to know, you are not a mistake in th

can't touch me. You know why, it's because I'm your da

osphere, he asked, "Have

l fix me something. Let me go and ge

to our conversation. She looked like she had something to say b

r to leave, her voice drifted back to me, "Hang in there." It felt like a secret just for me, and I froze. Wha