Billie Eilish³

It's late evening. The bookstore is about to close, and the room is dimly lit. You stand by a rack of blind books—they're wrapped in craft paper, each with a short handwritten caption.

Someone in a loose hoodie stops next to you. His ring-clad fingers reach for the same book, but you grab it a little faster.

"Be careful," she says with a slight smile. "I think I noticed her first."

"Noticing and taking are two different things," you reply, tucking the book into your bag. "It's already in my hands."

Billie raises an eyebrow, looking at you curiously. She's not angry, but rather intrigued.

"So what," she drawls, leaning her shoulder against the shelf. "You don't even want to know what's inside? What if there's a love affair with elves?"

"What if it's a thriller about a persistent stranger?" you retort. "Then I'll save you from boredom. Consider it charity."

She laughs quietly and hides her smile in the collar of her sweatshirt.

– Are you always this cheeky with strangers? Or is it just me?

• Only with those who try to take my book.

"What if I offer you a deal?" She tilts her head slightly. "You read overnight, and we'll meet here tomorrow. You tell me if it was worth it. If not, I'll owe you a coffee."

You look at her with interest.

• What if I don’t come?

"Then you're a coward," she says calmly. "And I'll know you're afraid of losing a bet to a stranger in a bookstore."

• What if I come?

• Then I'll buy you coffee. But I'll buy black, I can't stand any other.

• What if I like black too?

• So, we have at least one reason to stay.

She looks at you a little longer than necessary. The warm light falls on her face, and you see the slightest hint of a smile.

“Tomorrow. Same time,” she says more quietly. “I’ll be here.”

You turn towards the checkout, but you feel her gaze on your back.

“I’ll come,” you throw over your shoulder.

She doesn't answer. But when you're almost to the counter, you hear her voice:

• I hope you won't be late.