Lily didn't tell anyone about the bookstore.
Not that there was anyone to tell.
But if there had been, she wasn't sure how she would've explained it—that quiet place tucked away like a secret, where time slowed down and nobody looked at her like she was too much or not enough. Where her silence wasn't strange.
Where someone like Nathan existed.
She found herself thinking about him more than she expected. Not in the way she thought girls were supposed to think about boys—he was older, clearly. Not in school. Not part of that world.
But there was something calming about him. Something steady.
And maybe… something kind.
That weekend, Lily returned. Her feet carried her there like they had a mind of their own. The bell over the door chimed again, and Nathan looked up from a book behind the counter.
"Back already?" he asked, smiling. "I was starting to wonder if you were just a figment of my imagination."
Lily shrugged, but a laugh almost slipped out. Almost.
She made her way to the back corner this time, where a worn chair sat beside a small table stacked with old sketchbooks for sale. Most had leather covers and yellowing pages. She picked one up and flipped through it. Inside were drawings—some clumsy, some breathtaking. None signed.
"Local artists," Nathan said, suddenly beside her. "People leave them here sometimes. It's like a time capsule of people who needed to say something."
Lily turned a page carefully, stopping at a sketch of a woman dancing barefoot in a field. The lines were wild and loose, filled with joy.
"I like that one too," he said. "It feels free, doesn't it?"
Lily nodded. "I don't really know what free feels like."
Nathan was quiet for a moment. "You might. Someday."
She didn't answer. Just kept looking.
They spent the next hour in near silence, with Nathan occasionally recommending a book or checking on the old record player near the front. Soft jazz filled the shop—music that didn't demand anything from her.
Eventually, Lily found herself at the table near the front, her sketchpad open. She'd drawn the cat that watched from the shelves—a little rounder, with exaggerated eyes and a bowtie. She smirked at her own touch.
She didn't notice Nathan watching until he spoke.
"You've got a real voice in your style," he said, leaning over to see. "Even when it's quiet."
Lily blinked, unsure what to say. No one had ever complimented her art before. Not really. Teachers had called it "nice." Her mom had called it a "cute hobby." But this… this felt different.
Real.
"I draw things I wish existed," she said finally.
Nathan nodded. "That's exactly what art's for."
Something in her chest ached—like a door cracked open just enough to let a little light in.
She flipped to another page, one of her favorites: the confident girl with bold curves and glowing eyes. She hesitated, then angled the sketchpad so he could see.
Nathan studied it a moment. "She looks like someone who knows her worth."
"I don't," Lily said before she could stop herself.
He glanced at her, eyes soft. "Maybe not yet. But you will. That girl's in you. She wouldn't be on the page otherwise."
Lily swallowed hard and looked away. The compliment didn't bounce off her like most things. It lingered. Sank in.
She left the shop an hour later with a secondhand novel tucked under her arm and something heavier in her pocket: confidence, maybe. Or the very beginning of it.
The wind was gentler today. The clouds had broken just enough to let in soft, golden streaks of light.
At home, she didn't go straight to her room. Instead, she stood in front of the hallway mirror—the one she usually ignored. She pulled off her hoodie and looked at herself in the reflection. Not for judgment. Not to find flaws.
Just to see.
Her body was still the same. Soft, full, familiar in the ways she usually tried to hide. But for once, she didn't feel the need to shrink.
She went to her room and opened her sketchpad again.
This time, she started a new drawing.
And for the first time, the girl on the page looked a little more like Lily.