First Steps

The air in the small, independent bookstore hummed with the quiet rustle of pages and the faint scent of old paper. Zoid, clad in their customary oversized black tee and baggy jeans, nervously adjusted the black headband with the tiny bow perched atop their blue hair. Across from them, Luke, a vision in a fitted, soft grey sweater that did little to hide the lean muscle beneath, offered a smile that Zoid was beginning to find dangerously disarming. His emerald eyes, so vividly described in Zoid’s own internal monologue, were fixed on them with an intensity that made Zoid’s stomach do a peculiar flip.

“So,” Luke began, his voice a low, pleasant rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards, “you said you wanted to talk about that author? The one with the ridiculously long name?”

Zoid let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding. “Yeah. Anya Sharma. Her latest. I’ve heard… things.” They gestured vaguely towards a shelf laden with literary fiction, their fingers brushing against the worn spines of books. “Good things. And also, you know, the usual literary buzz. I was hoping you might have some insight.”