Runaway Love

Prologue

The weather between spring and summer was always her favorite; it wasn't too hot or cold. The sun sat high, but the winds from the sea cooled her skin. Misha adjusted her sunglasses as she walked toward the small bookstore. It had been a while since she had been back to her hometown of Nora. After all these years of being gone, the unchanged scenery eased her heart.

Nora was a small coastal town, with tourists coming and going with the seasons. Misha knew that coming during the summer could be disastrous. During her school years, seeing people cram themselves through the small stores and roads helped her find shortcuts or alternative routes that were less populated. For this trip, she wanted to take her time and be free to roam with nothing to get in her way. Thankfully, taking time off from work raised no issues, and visiting in April proved the better alternative to fighting off the nonnatives for a spot on the sidewalk.

The old bookshop was her destination, and afterward to Sylvia's café. The sign for The Green Library, whose name was faded but legible, sat in its usual spot. She smiled to herself as she placed her hand gently around the handle. A soft bell rang above her, welcoming her back to her former haven. Nothing had changed—the shelves, the smell, the character of it all. She took a step in and took a deep inhale through her nose.

"Welcome!" a woman's voice came from the back of the store. "Please let me know if you need anything!"

Misha removed her sunglasses and called out back to her, "Will do, thank you."

Misha began to retrace her favorite route, starting from the front and looping counterclockwise towards the back, through the double shelves, then returning to the front end. To her, it didn't matter what genre the section held; she enjoyed all of them, though she had her preferences. After all, nothing truly mattered. She came in today for a reason. Misha had already chosen a book before stepping foot into the store. The route was just for nostalgia's sake. She took her time looping around, scanning the different titles and authors. The selections piqued her interest, some old, some new. The owner seemed to consider what they put on the shelves. Misha wondered if there was a change of management.

She approached her favorite section and quickly looked for the author. Her fingertip pressed over the top of the book and slid it out of its resting place.

Lost Birds, by C. B. Grace.

Picking another book randomly from the aged oak shelf, Misha headed to the counter, where a woman stood writing something down. Her dirty blond hair was slightly curly and draped along her shoulders. She wore a nostalgic dark green apron with no wrinkles or creases. She was an unfamiliar face, which eased Misha's nerves.

"Did you find everything you needed?" the woman asked.

"I did," Misha replied.

The woman quickly glanced at Misha before returning her attention to scanning the books.

"You're not from here, are you?"

Misha, surprised by the sudden comment, tilted her head and asked, "What makes you say that?"

"Your aura is just different," the woman chuckled. "It's not a bad thing! No one here is as stylish as you. Even the jewelry that you wear is different."

Misha understood well what the woman was saying. She looked as if she belonged in Nora once, but she had to change. Something had to.

"You like these?" Misha dug through her bag and took a business card out. "My friend makes these and sells them online; if you're interested, please check it out."

The woman smiled brightly, "Thank you! I will."

The doorbell dings again. The woman looked past Misha, and her smile grew even wider.

"Hey, honey! Hold on, I'll be right there," with quick precision, she wrapped the book in parchment paper and handed it to Misha. "Thank you, please come again."

"Thanks," Misha replied.

She turned around and walked past a man browsing the nearby bookshelf. For a brief second, he felt a jolt of electricity shock his heart. Her flowery scent had triggered a memory, a memory that had nestled itself in the deepest part of his mind, now shooting up and breaking through the surface. His head quickly snapped toward Misha as she exited the bookstore. His feet refused to move, and his body stood tense, almost afraid that if he chased—

"Miss!" his girlfriend's voice cuts him out of the trance. "I forgot to hand her the other book."

"I'll get it to her," he says.

"Thanks, honey."

The man quickly exited the door, book tightly in hand. He looked around, his eyes desperately searching for her. When he caught her in his sights, everything froze in place. The way she walked, how the sunlight reflected off her hair like water, her tan skin... in his heart, he knew it was her. She returned. Forcing himself to move, he ran after her but stopping far enough away not to be within arm's reach.

"Misha!"

She stopped. A voice she longed to hear called out to her. Misha slowly looked back, holding back the emotions that flooded their way into her heart.

"Henri," his name barely made it past her lips.

They both stood like statues on the empty sidewalk. Both eyes glued on one another, taking in every detail after years of absence. Henri lifts the book, finally breaking the silence.

"This is yours."

Misha looked at the book and then back to Henri.

She walked toward him, almost painfully so, "Yeah."

Henri held on to the book a split second too long and quickly released it from his grasp.

"Misha—"

Without another word, she turned to leave.

Henri panicked, not wanting to see her go again he called out to her once more, "How long are you staying for?"

"Not long," she walked away not looking back.

The woman sat alone at the small dining table and rubbed the business card with her thumb. Satisfied with the dinner he had made, Henri approached her and placed a hand on the back of her chair.

"What's that, Hannah?" he gently kissed the top of her head before heading to the sink, dishes in hand.

Hannah hesitated before answering, "The woman from earlier gave this to me."

His head swiveled toward Hannah, who had been watching him the whole time.

She frowned, "You know her, don't you?"

Henri looked away. He already felt his face contorting from the memories of his past. He would rather not remember, but he couldn't forget her either, who she was, or what they were.

"Who is she?"

"She's, uh..." his voice trailed off.

Hannah came behind him and tightly wrapped her arms around Henri, pressing her cheek against his back.

"There's nothing for you to worry about," Henri said, placing his hand on top of hers.

"Your face says something different," Hannah closed her eyes. "Tell me who she is... why she makes you look so sad?"

Her shining eyes, her speed, her rush, her smile— she had a hold on him after all these years. All of her was flooding back to him now.

"My first love."