Days quickly stretch into weeks.
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the small bookstore, a comforting scent that mingled with the musty smell of old paper and leather-bound books. Ciara sat at a table near the window, a steaming latte in front of her, her eyes scanning the shelves, searching for a new read. She had agreed to meet Galen here, a suggestion he had made with a charming smile, a subtle nod to her love for literature.
He arrived a few minutes later, his face lit by a smile that made her heart skip a beat. He had brought a book with him, a worn copy of "Don Quixote," a classic he had mentioned during their last meeting.
"I thought you might enjoy this," he said, handing her the book. "It's one of my favorites."
Ciara accepted the book, her fingers brushing against h
