Reflections Between the Pages

The bell above the bookshop’s door chimed, announcing her arrival. Claire stepped inside, shaking the rain from her coat, her fingers lingering at the edges of her scarf. The scent of old paper and ink wrapped around her, a comforting embrace. It was a cozy, dimly lit space, with the afternoon light filtering through the dusty windows. It was quieter than usual today, just a low hum of whispers between bookshelves and the occasional rustle of pages turning.

She wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just something to hold in her hands and keep her company on this gray afternoon. But then, as she turned toward the fiction aisle, she saw him.

A man about her age, standing between the shelves, running his fingers along the spines of books as if tracing the lines of an old map. His dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, and he pushed it back absentmindedly. He wasn’t looking at her, but she had the distinct feeling that he knew she was there.

She hesitated. Should she move? Stay? Say something? No, that would be ridiculous. He was just another person in a bookshop, another quiet soul seeking refuge in stories.

She couldn't help but wonder about him. What book was he looking for? Something deep? Mysterious? Or maybe he’s one of those who reads the last page first, just to see how things end. The thought made her smile.

On the other side of the bookshelf, Daniel felt her presence. He wasn’t sure why he had suddenly become hyper-aware of someone else in the shop, but he could sense her—hovering, watching, just as he was pretending not to do the same.

She’s trying to decide if she should acknowledge me, he mused. Maybe she thinks I haven’t noticed her. Perhaps she’s debating whether to walk past me or go the long way around.

He reached for a book at random—Dickens's Great Expectations—and flipped it open without really reading it.

What would I say if I did talk to her? he wondered. "Nice weather we’re having" would be a lie. "Come here often?" Too cliché. Maybe something clever—"You ever think bookshops are like airports? You can travel anywhere, but you don’t actually go anywhere."

He almost smirked at his own ridiculousness. Instead, he returned the book to the shelf and moved to another section.

Claire noticed.

He’s leaving, she thought. But not too quickly. Just enough to see if I’ll follow.

She wasn’t sure why she did, but her feet carried her forward. Not directly toward him, of course—that would be too obvious. Instead, she veered into the classics section, running her fingers over leather-bound covers, pretending to be lost in their beauty.

Daniel let his gaze flicker toward her again, subtly taking her in. Her reddish-brown hair was loosely tucked behind her ears, revealing delicate features—sharp cheekbones softened by kind eyes. She had a thoughtful yet distant expression as if lost in her world.

What does she do? He mused. A writer, maybe? A teacher? No, not a teacher. She has that look of someone who lives in her head too much. An artist, then? Someone who sketches people in cafés, wondering what stories they carry?

Claire, meanwhile, was making her own quiet observations. His jaw was defined, shadowed slightly from not shaving that morning. There was something contemplative about him, the way his lips pressed together like he was constantly lost in thought. His eyes—deep brown—lingered on the books longer than necessary.

A writer, maybe? A professor? Or something completely unexpected, like a musician who plays in quiet bars and never tells anyone his name? He has that look… someone who listens more than he speaks.

He picked up a book—The Catcher in the Rye. A classic, but one that often divided people.

Is he the kind who relates to Holden Caulfield or the type who finds him unbearable?

Daniel glanced at the book in his hands. She’s judging me based on this; I know it. Should I pick something else? No, that would be obvious.

She reached for a book. Austen. Pride and Prejudice. A safe choice.

Ah, so she likes the timeless ones, he thought. Does she love the romance of it, or does she roll her eyes at Mr. Darcy’s brooding?

She flipped a page, knowing full well she wasn’t reading. Instead, she was thinking.

Does he know I know he’s looking?

He took a step closer, stopping just short of her aisle. The space between them was thin now, like the edge of a turning page.

A silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken words.

At first, neither moved, and neither was caught in a game—neither had agreed to play. Then, as if on cue, Daniel turned slightly and started toward the front of the store.

This is it, Claire thought. He'll leave if I don’t move now, and we’ll never speak.

And so, she followed.

They reached the counter simultaneously, standing side by side, neither looking directly at the other. The shopkeeper was ringing up another customer, giving them both a moment of pause.

Daniel stole one final glance at her, and she did the same. Their eyes met this time without the barrier of bookshelves or fleeting glances.

And then, finally, at the exact same moment—

"Hi," they said.

The word echoed strangely—not a normal echo—delayed and distorted. The sound didn’t match their lips.

Claire blinked. The moment stretched too long like time was pausing between frames. Something was wrong.

Daniel felt it, too. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. His stomach twisted, a sensation like vertigo but without movement. He opened his mouth to say something else, but the words never formed. Instead, he saw it—

Her face flickered.

It's not an expression change. Not a shadow passing. It was a glitch, a distortion, like an image caught between two frames on a screen. For a split second, she was someone else.

Claire inhaled sharply.

He was flickering, too.

The shop itself pulsed. The bookshelves warped at the edges, and the hanging light overhead buzzed and dimmed in and out of sync. The rain outside slowed unnaturally, with droplets hovering midair before continuing their descent.

Claire turned to the shopkeeper, but he wasn’t there anymore.

The counter was empty. The entire shop was empty.

She looked at Daniel, panic creeping into her throat. He was staring at her the way she was staring at him.

"Do you feel that?" she whispered.

His lips parted, but before he could speak, the room stuttered—like an old film reel skipping frames. The air thickened, the scent of old books turning sharp and metallic. Claire stepped back, her body suddenly weightless, like gravity wasn’t fully holding her.

Daniel reached for the counter, but his fingers passed through it.

The shop wasn’t real.

Or rather… it was unraveling.

Their gazes locked, and a silent understanding passed between them.

This wasn’t just a coincidence. This wasn’t a trick of the mind.

They weren’t in the same reality.

Claire turned toward the door. The bell still hung above it, but something was off—it was too far away as if the shop had stretched. When she stepped toward it, the floor rippled beneath her feet, like she was walking on water's surface.

Daniel tried to follow, but the space between them expanded. The distance that should have been three feet became ten. Then twenty.

"Claire!" he shouted, though he didn’t know why he suddenly knew her name.

She reached for him, but their hands passed through one another like mist.

The bookshop trembled, the shelves warping into elongated shadows. Claire felt herself being pulled back, weightless, like something was trying to return her to where she belonged.

Daniel reached for The Catcher in the Rye on the counter, gripping it tightly as if it could anchor him.

Then—

The world blinked.

And everything was normal again.

The shop was full of people. The bell chimed as someone walked in. The shopkeeper stood behind the counter, counting change. The smell of old books had returned.

Claire stood alone in front of the register.

Daniel was gone.

She spun around heart racing. The shelves were as they had been. The rain tapped against the window. But he—he was nowhere.

Had she imagined it? Had he?

Her gaze dropped to the counter, where a book rested—Pride and Prejudice, which she had picked up earlier.

But there was another book beside it. One that Claire hadn’t brought to the counter.

The Catcher in the Rye.

She picked it up slowly. Her hands were trembling.

There was something written on the cover.

A name.

Daniel.

Her breath caught.

The shopkeeper looked up. "Everything alright, miss?"

Claire hesitated. She wanted to ask—Did you see him? But something in her gut told her it was pointless.

Instead, she swallowed and nodded. "Yes. I just… I think I was looking for this book."

She bought it without another word.

And as she stepped outside, the rain falling steadily against her coat, she turned her gaze to the street.

For a brief moment, in the reflection of the bookshop window, she saw him.

Daniel.

Standing there.

Watching her.

And then—just like before—

He was gone.