Even On Your Dark Days ♡

📖Chapter One: The First Flicker.

 📖 Chapter One: The First Flicker.

The bookstore smelled like old paper and rain.

Mai stood near the back, her fingers grazing the spines of forgotten novels, pretending to browse while the poet on stage read verses about heartbreak and honey. The words didn't matter. Not really. She was there for the silence between them—the way people held their breath when something true was spoken aloud.

That's when she saw her.

Emily sat alone in the second row, her hands folded tightly in her lap, eyes glassy but unblinking. She wasn't crying in the dramatic way people do in movies. No sobs. No shaking shoulders. Just a single tear trailing down her cheek like it had nowhere else to go.

Mai didn't mean to stare. But something about the quiet ache in Emily's face felt familiar. Like a mirror held up to her own chest.

The poet finished. Applause scattered like leaves. People began to move, but Emily stayed seated, still folded into herself. Mai hesitated, then walked forward—not with confidence, but with curiosity.

"Hi," she said softly, unsure if she was interrupting something sacred.

Emily looked up, startled. Her eyes were the color of dusk—soft, bruised, and beautiful.

"Hi," she echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

Mai gestured toward the empty seat beside her. "Mind if I sit?"

Emily shook her head. "Please."

They sat in silence for a moment, the kind that didn't demand filling. Outside, the rain tapped gently against the windows. Inside, something unspoken passed between them—recognition, maybe. Or relief.

"I liked the poem," Mai said eventually.

Emily nodded. "Me too. It hurt in the right places."

Mai smiled. "That's how you know it's good."

Emily turned to her, eyes searching. "Do you come to these often?"

Mai shrugged. "Only when I need to remember I'm not the only one feeling too much."

Emily's lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but she just nodded again. Then, after a pause: "I'm Emily."

"Mai."

They didn't shake hands. They didn't ask the usual questions. Instead, Emily pulled a small notebook from her bag and tore out a page.

"Here," she said, handing it over. "It's a playlist. Songs that help when the dark days come."

Mai took it gently, as if the paper might dissolve in her hands. She glanced at the titles—soft, aching melodies, each one a lifeline.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Emily smiled, and for the first time, Mai saw something flicker behind her eyes. Not joy. Not hope. But the possibility of both.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

Inside, something had begun.