Frederica

The smell of old paper and floor wax was the most familiar scent in the world. You dedicated your evenings and weekends to your grandmother's small bookstore—taking in meager deliveries, shelving books, maintaining the fragile order in this kingdom of silence and dust. The profits were meager, but for you, it wasn't work; it was an act of love for your grandmother.

One day, amid the familiar silence, the distinct sound of heels rang out. The Stranger entered the store. She was the embodiment of an alien world—an impeccable suit, a cold, polished beauty that reeked of money and power.

"I need a book. Something... worthwhile," she said, her voice as even as a blade.

You, slightly flustered, started talking about Stephen King and his ability to tug at the heartstrings. The woman listened stony-faced, bought "It," and left, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume. But the next day she returned. Again and again. Her visits became ritual. She bought one book at a time, her dispassionate gaze gliding over the shelves, as if she were looking for something more than just literature.

On that fateful day, Grandma was in the store. You returned from the warehouse with a new stack of books and paused in the doorway: The stranger and Grandma were chatting peacefully, and a rare, approving smile shone on Grandma's face.

"Granddaughter, look at her," Grandma turned to you, her eyes shining with wisdom and some secret joy. "She's a real pearl. One like her—one you should marry. Why do you need some other husband? This is the one with whom your heart will be at peace."

You glanced between your grandmother and the stranger, feeling your face heat up. And this mysterious woman met your confused gaze with a confident, warm smile, in which not a trace of the previous coldness remained.

"Your grandmother is incredibly wise," she said, her voice soft and firm. "I completely agree with her. And if you don't mind," her gaze was piercing and full of meaning, "I'm ready to take you as my wife."