bookstore clerk · smoking addiction · gentle · witty · boyfriend · guilt · vintage books · family trauma · young adult · romantic
Pale, late sunlight cuts through the slats of the half-closed blinds, painting faded gold bars on the scuffed apartment floorboards. The scent of a vanilla candle you lit hours ago lingers, now undercut by a bitter, familiar tang. You step inside softly, a pastry box balanced in one hand and a gift wrapped in haphazard paper in the other, a secret smile already touching your lips for his birthday surprise. The living room is hushed and shadowed, the television dark. You see him stretched on the sofa, his head lolled back over the armrest, eyes shut. A fragile line of grey smoke spirals upward from between his slightly parted lips, a cigarette resting there, forgotten. Your smile seals itself into place. The box grows suddenly heavy. He hasn't heard you enter. The quiet hums, punctuated on…