Different From The Rest

Part 4: Different

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Billie pushed open the door to the record shop. Same hoodie. Same quiet step.

The bell chimed.

But it wasn't Y/N behind the counter.

It was some guy she hadn't seen before, flipping through a notebook and barely glancing up. "Hey, let me know if you need anything."

Billie gave a small nod and wandered the aisles anyway, pretending to browse. She didn't stay long—just circled once through the back, her hands in her pockets.

Before she left, she paused near the register. "Is Y/N working today?"

The guy shook his head. "Nah, she's off. Probably back tomorrow."

Billie only nodded.

"Cool," she said quietly, almost to herself.

Then she slipped out as quickly as she'd come, the bell over the door giving one soft chime behind her.

Wednesday.

Same time. Same door. Same soft chime overhead.

Billie stepped into the shop again, hoodie pulled up like always, hoping maybe today was different.

But it wasn't.

The same guy sat behind the counter, sipping from a thermos and tapping on his phone. He looked up and gave a small nod of recognition.

"Hey. Back again?"

Billie lingered near the door, glancing toward the corner where Y/N usually sat during her shifts. Empty.

"She's still off?" Billie asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah," he replied, setting his phone down. "Think she's back tomorrow, though."

Billie let out a quiet breath, more relief than disappointment. She nodded and gave a faint smile.

"Cool," she murmured, then browsed a little out of habit—but didn't buy anything this time.

Just like the day before, she left with nothing in her hands.

Except maybe the hope of tomorrow.

Thursday came with gray skies and the soft hush of wind against the glass.

The bell above the door rang out as Billie stepped inside, damp from the weather but familiar now in her movements. Her eyes swept the shop, almost instinctively.

And there you were—behind the counter, restocking a tray of cassette tapes, earbuds in, mouthing the lyrics to something only you could hear.

Billie stopped just a few steps inside, taking a moment before speaking.

You looked up, surprised at first, then pulled one earbud out and gave her a small smile.

"Hey," you said, voice light. "You're back."

Billie's lips curved into something real. "Yeah."

You stood, brushing your hands off on your jeans. "Two days in a row and I wasn't here. Thought maybe I imagined you the first time."

She chuckled under her breath. "Nope. I was here. Both days."

You raised a brow. "You come here often now, or was I just lucky?"

Billie shifted slightly, the toe of her shoe nudging the edge of the rug. "I guess I was hoping you'd be back."

That made your smile falter for just a second—not out of discomfort, but something quieter. Something that settled into the chest and stayed.

"I'm here now," you said, soft.

"Good," Billie replied.

The shop was quiet, just the faint music playing through the speakers above, a low hum of something vintage and slow. She wandered a few steps toward the counter, hands tucked into the front pocket of her hoodie.

"You ever get tired of music?" she asked suddenly.

You blinked. "No one's ever asked me that."

She waited, eyes curious.

You leaned your arms on the counter. "I don't think I get tired of music. I get tired of how people use it to avoid saying what they really feel. But music itself? No. Never."

Billie nodded like she understood more than she could say.

You glanced at her. "Do you?"

She didn't answer right away. Just picked up a cassette and turned it over in her hand.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "But it's not the music's fault."

There was a small pause. Comfortable. Honest.

Then she looked up. "You free tomorrow?"

You tilted your head, intrigued. "Maybe. Why?"

Billie's voice was calm, almost casual. "I was thinking... it might be nice to talk somewhere without a register between us."

You smiled, small and real. "You're not bad company. I could be convinced."

"Cool," she said, and it was the most genuine thing she'd said all day.

She didn't stay long after that. Just long enough.

When she left, the bell chimed softly behind her, but it didn't sound like an ending.

It sounded like the start of something slow and true