Three years earlier, he had met Clara in a cramped bookstore, their hands colliding over the same novel. They’d laughed in that awkward, surprised way strangers do, then somehow ended up talking in the aisle until the shop lights dimmed, signaling closing time.
What started as a shared recommendation turned into coffee, then dinner, then weekends spent together. They settled into a rhythm that felt effortless: shared meals, private jokes, evenings reading on opposite ends of the couch, exchanging comments without needing to look up.