Emily worked in a strange, shadowy bookshop down a cobblestone lane in Bath. The books there seemed to multiply each night and shrink the next day, their prices written in swirling pound signs that sometimes moved of their own accord. Hardly anyone ever came in, and so Emily was always delighted by the rare, dreamlike appearance of a customer drifting among the dusty shelves. She possessed the unusual gift of remembering every face, and, over time, some faces would fade in and out, returning again as if called back by the odd energy of the place.
One particular figure stood outa young man, tall and captivating in the peculiar, blurred way dream figures often are. For two weeks he haunted the shop nearly every day. Hed wander the labyrinth of shelves, study a floating volume or two, and then vanish without buying a thing. At first, this unsettled Emily, but she never dared to intrude; she herself loathed pushy shopkeepers and preferred to let the moment glide by in silence. Still, she couldnt help admiring how his collar always seemed slightly turned up as if blown by a phantom draft.
“Where on earth did he materialise from?” Emily asked Miranda, her friend from the old record shop next door, where even fewer customers appeared. “Do you fancy him?” Miranda grinned. “He slipped into my shop as well, just drifting about, not really looking for anythinglike he half-belonged. And yes, he is dreamy, isnt he?”
Emily gave a wistful sigh. “A shame he never says a word. Im afraid if I open my mouth, hell evaporate, and anyway, I quite like watching him drift by.”
Miranda, never one to ask permission, took matters into her own hands. The next afternoon when the mysterious young man again floated from Emilys bookshop to Mirandas record shop, Miranda struck up a conversation. She gleaned that he lived somewhere nearby and was searching for a rare old book. His ailing father once owned a copy, but it had perished in a strange fire that left only the shell of the family house standing; the book was now little more than a memory.
With this tale swirling through her sleepy mind, Miranda recounted it all to Emily and implored her to hunt for the lost book. Emily lost herself in the warren of shelvessome straight, some going in impossible directionsasking after it in every nook and cranny, even ringing up other dreamlike shops across the city. When the young man returned, she led him immediately to a shelf that seemed to warp gently under the weight of its secrets. He searched and searched, yet could not find the phantom book, but at least they spoke, their words weaving through the air like ribbons of mist. When the bell above the door finally ceased to echo and the shop was once again empty, Emily suggested they continue searching for the elusive volume together online.
They talked in circles and laughed as if time had stopped altogether; Emily found out his name was Oliver, and that his heart, he confided, was entirely free. Then, Oliver asked, almost shyly, if she herself was unattached. Their mutual infatuation with books had pulled them together out of the mist. Oliver kept returning, enchanted, searching anew, until, by some nighttime miracle, they discovered the coveted book tucked between volumes that hadnt been there before.
Seizing on the marvel, Oliver invited Emily to join him for supper to celebrate their absurdly lucky find. She agreed without hesitation, the world spinning gently in delight.
And so, flickering between shelves and stories, Emily and Oliverjoined by books and curiositydrifted closer, two dreamers waking together in the half-light of the strange old bookshop.
