Page 2 of Somewhere Between Falling

“Tamsin,” he repeated softly, more to himself than to me. I’ve never liked my name much—it always sounded more suitable for a heroine in some fantasy novel, not a name someone actually had in real life—but the way he said it made it sound kind of beautiful.

“I’m Tobias,” he continued, which I thought suited him well, as his hand grasped my own.

“Nice to meet you, Tobias.”

“Same to you.”

No last names were exchanged, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t like this was going anywhere but a few blocks south of here.

It began on a park bench but would end in a bookstore.

No strings.

No expectations.

Just me, a stranger named Tobias, and the smell of old leather, coffee, and paper.

“So which story are you reading?” he asked.

“Daisy Miller. Again.” I chuckled to myself. “I tend to reread my favorites.”

“Why is it your favorite?” he inquired. I sighed and tried to put into words exactly what it was about the story I liked so much.

“I guess I like it because it doesn’t have the standard happily ever after. I mean, Daisy dies at the end, which is more realistic,” I explained.

“Um, spoiler alert,” he said.

“Oh sorry,” I said as my cheeks warmed in embarrassment.

“I’m only teasing. I’ve read it before.”

As we walked, we continued to talk effortlessly. Those who read never struggle to converse with fellow readers. One of you mentions a book you loved and the other either has read it too, which begins a thorough literary dissection of the storyline, characters, and theme which then continues on and on until you begin discussing similar books you loved or hated. Or the other person hasn’t read the novel, which prompts the first person to go on and on about how the book in question demands to be read at once for one reason or another. This can go on for hours, back and forth, because of the endless supply of worlds to explore and characters to love.

This guy was a reader, and thus I found myself totally at ease making conversation with him. I hadn’t talked that much in ages, but it was nice having someone like-minded to talk to and even nicer to have someone to listen to what I had to say as though they cared and were interested in learning my thoughts. It was oddly freeing not having any expectations. I realized I could be anyone I wanted to be right now, and he wouldn’t know the difference. Of course, the same applied to him, but I didn’t mind that at the moment.

The bookshop would have been easy to miss had Tobias not pointed it out. There was a faded green-and-pink-striped awning over a solid oak door. There were no windows giving passersby a peek of what lay inside. Other than the petite sign with the words “The Book Shop” painted in gold script lettering that was barely visible from the road, there was nothing calling attention to this charming little shop.

A bell chimed as we entered, and we were immediately greeted by a fluffy, black cat and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves so thick with books that it was impossible to know where to start.

Tobias seemed to know exactly what I was thinking because, with a crooked smile, he said, “Should we start where I last left off?”

With a nod, I followed him to the far left-hand side of the room. “You’ve looked at all of these?” I asked, gesturing to the countless piles of books we just walked past.

“I have a lot of free time these days.”

“What do you do when you aren’t browsing used book stores?” I asked.

“Browsing libraries, I guess,” he said with an easy smile.

“Is there anything in your life that doesn’t revolve around books?”

“Not really,” he said with a chuckle. “Not at the moment anyway.”

“Job?”

“Professional student. You?”

“Same. Field of study?”

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