Author Page: Gwen
Gwen is an emerging voice in literary fiction,weaving heartfelt stories rooted in her love for human connection and the quiet magic of everyday moments.A senior majoring in English at the College of Foreign Languages,Southwest University,she draws inspiration from the rich cultural tapestry of her hometown—Bijie,Guizhou,a scenic,livable city nestled amid gentle mountains and lush greenery.The warmth of small-town life,the comfort of familiar landscapes,and the unspoken stories behind ordinary interactions infuse her writing with authenticity and charm.
Beyond the page,Gwen is a dynamic spirit with a passion for movement—whether hiking the trails near her hometown,playing badminton with friends,or exploring new running routes.Her diverse interests,from literature and film to travel and community engagement,fuel her curiosity about people and their stories,allowing her to craft relatable characters and narratives that resonate across backgrounds.
With a background in English studies,Gwen brings a keen eye for language and emotional nuance to her work.Her debut novella,“The Notebook in Shiguang Bookstore”,reflects her belief in the power of memories to connect past and present,and the courage it takes to mend what’s broken.For Gwen,writing is both a mirror and a bridge—reflecting the truths of her own experiences while inviting readers to see pieces of themselves in her stories.She continues to write and explore,driven by a desire to share tales that feel like a hug:warm,familiar,and full of hope.
Chapter 1:The Scent of Old Paper and a Hidden Secret
The bell above the door of Shiguang Bookstore jingled softly as Su Xiao pushed it open,the afternoon sunlight slanting through the dusty skylight and painting streaks of gold on the wooden floor.She adjusted the strap of her canvas bag—its surface dotted with faint ink stains from last week’s essay assignment—and breathed in deeply.The air here was always the same:a warm,earthy mix of old paper,dried ink,and the faint,sweet mustiness of books that had been loved for decades.It was a smell that felt like a hug,the kind that made her forget the chaos of her university campus for a few hours.
“Grandpa Chen?”Su Xiao called out,her voice echoing gently between the tall bookshelves.The store was quiet,as it usually was on weekday afternoons.Most customers came on weekends—students hunting for cheap textbooks,elderly people looking for old novels,couples browsing the poetry section hand in hand.But today,the only sound was the soft rustle of pages from the back corner.
Grandpa Chen emerged from behind a stack of leather-bound encyclopedias,a duster in his hand.He was a thin,silver-haired man with deep wrinkles around his eyes,the kind that came from years of smiling quietly to himself.He never spoke much—Su Xiao had worked here for three months and had exchanged maybe fifty words with him—but his nods and small gestures always felt kind.Today,he nodded at her,his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners,and pointed to a pile of unsorted books on the front counter.It was her usual task:dusting the shelves,organizing the new arrivals,and making sure the“Staff Picks”section by the window was neat.
Su Xiao set her bag on the counter and rolled up her sleeves.The books on the pile were a mix of genres:a tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice with a coffee stain on the cover,a thick history book about the Ming Dynasty,a collection of short stories by a writer she’d never heard of.She picked up the first one,ran her finger along its spine to brush off the dust,and paused.There was something about the way the sunlight hit the book’s pages—how the edges had turned a soft,honeyed yellow—that made her smile.She’d always loved old books,not just for the stories inside,but for the stories they carried themselves:the faint pencil marks in the margins,the pressed flower between pages,the names scrawled on the first page in handwriting that had long since faded.
As she worked,she stole glances at Grandpa Chen.He was dusting the top shelf of the far wall,his movements slow and deliberate,as if each book deserved its own moment of attention.Every now and then,he’d stop and trace the title of a book with his finger,his lips moving slightly as if he was whispering to it.Su Xiao had wondered about his past more than once.The store had been here as long as she
could remember—her mother had told her she’d come here as a teenager to buy romance novels—but no one seemed to know much about Grandpa Chen.He lived alone above the store,she’d heard,and he never talked about his family or where he’d come from.He was like a character in a mystery novel,quiet and full of secrets.
By late afternoon,the sun had shifted,and the golden streaks on the floor had turned to soft pink.Su Xiao had finished organizing the front counter and was now working on the top shelf of the“Fiction”section—the one that was so high she had to stand on a step stool to reach it.The books here were older,their spines cracked and faded,and most of them had no price tags.Grandpa Chen had told her once,in his quiet way,that these were“special”books—ones he’d collected over the years,not to sell,but to keep safe.
She reached for a thick,dark green book at the back of the shelf,its cover embossed with a pattern of vines that had almost worn away.As she pulled it out,something fell from between its pages and landed on the step stool with a soft thud.
Su Xiao frowned and bent down to pick it up.It was a notebook—small,about the size of her palm,with a brown leather cover that was scuffed and cracked.The leather felt soft under her fingers,like it had been held hundreds of times.She flipped it open,expecting to see blank pages or maybe a few notes,but instead,she found that the pages were almost empty.There were a few scattered lines of handwriting here and there—“April 15th,rainy,”“The song on the radio today,”“I saw her again”—but nothing more.The handwriting was small and neat,like it had been written by someone who took their time,and the ink had faded to a pale blue,making it hard to read.
She was about to close the notebook when she noticed something odd.The last few pages were thicker than the others,and when she pressed her finger against them,she felt a slight bulge.Curious,she ran her nail along the edge of the page and pried it open gently.There was a hidden compartment inside,small enough to fit a few coins or a folded piece of paper.Su Xiao’s heart skipped a beat.She looked over her shoulder—Grandpa Chen was still dusting the far shelf,his back to her—and leaned in closer.What was inside?A letter?A photo?A secret?
She reached her finger into the compartment,but before she could touch anything,she heard the bell above the door jingle.She quickly closed the notebook,slipped it into the pocket of her jeans,and climbed down from the step stool.A customer had walked in—a young woman with short black hair,wearing a red jacket—and was looking around the store with a confused expression.
“Can I help you find something?”Su Xiao asked,forcing a smile.
The woman nodded.“I’m looking for a book…I don’t remember the title,but it’s
about a girl who works in a bookstore,”she said,her voice soft.“My mom used to read it to me when I was little,and I wanted to find a copy for her birthday.”
Su Xiao led her to the“Children’s Classics”section,but after ten minutes of looking,they couldn’t find the book.The woman thanked her anyway,her smile a little sad,and left.When Su Xiao turned back to the step stool,Grandpa Chen was standing there,looking at her.His eyes were calm,as always,but there was something in them—something like recognition—that made her nervous.
“Did you find something?”he asked,his voice low and gravelly,like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
Su Xiao’s throat felt dry.She hesitated for a second,then shook her head.“No,just…organizing the books,”she said,trying to sound casual.“The top shelf was really dusty.”
Grandpa Chen nodded,but he didn’t move.He stared at the spot where the notebook had fallen,his gaze lingering for a moment,then turned and walked back to the far wall.Su Xiao let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.She pulled the notebook out of her pocket and looked at it again.The leather cover felt warm in herhand,like it was alive.She knew she should put it back—after all,it wasn’t hers—but something about it made her want to keep it,just for a little while.
That night,after the store closed,Su Xiao sat on her bed and opened the notebook again.She turned the pages slowly,reading the scattered lines over and over.“April 15th,rainy”—that had been last week,she thought.“The song on the radio today”—she wondered what song it had been.“I saw her again”—who was“her”?
She thought about the hidden compartment.What if whatever was inside was important?What if it belonged to Grandpa Chen?She’d seen him look at the top shelf so many times,like he was waiting for something.Maybe this notebook was what he was waiting for.
But then she thought about the woman in the red jacket—the one who’d been looking for the book for her mom—and how sad she’d looked when they couldn’t find it.She thought about how books could hold memories,how they could connect people across time.What if this notebook was like that?What if it held a memory that someone had forgotten,a secret that needed to be told?
Su Xiao picked up a pen from her desk and flipped to a blank page in the notebook.She thought for a moment,then wrote:I wish I could find the tape from 1998—the one with the song that plays on rainy days.I wish I could remember who gave it to me.
She didn’t know why she’d written that.She’d never had a tape from 1998—she’d been born in 2001,after all—and she didn’t know anyone who listened to tapes.But as soon as she finished writing,something strange happened.The page under her pen started to feel warm,like it was being heated from the inside.She pulled her hand away,and watched as the ink of her words started to fade,slowly at first,then faster,until it was gone completely.
Su Xiao stared at the blank page,her heart racing.What was this notebook?And what had she just done?
Chapter 2:The Tape from 1998 and a Memory of Rain
The next morning,Su Xiao woke up with a headache.She’d stayed up half the night staring at the notebook,trying to figure out what had happened,but she still had no answers.The page where she’d written her wish was blank,as if she’d never written anything there,but she could still feel the warmth of it on her fingertips.She’d debated whether to take the notebook back to the store,but in the end,she’d slipped it into her bag.She needed to know more.
When she arrived at Shiguang Bookstore,Grandpa Chen was already there,sitting in the old armchair by the window,reading a newspaper.He looked up when she walked in,nodded,and went back to his paper.Su Xiao set her bag on the counter and tried to act normal,but her hands were shaking as she picked up the duster.She kept glancing at the“Fiction”shelf,half-expecting the notebook to magically appear there,but it didn’t.It was still in her bag,hidden at the bottom under her textbook.
By mid-morning,a few customers had come and gone,but the store was still quiet.Su Xiao was organizing the“Mystery”section when she heard a voice behind her.
“Excuse me—do you have any old tapes here?”
She turned around.It was the same woman from yesterday—the one in the red jacket.Her hair was wet from the rain outside,and she was holding a small,beat-up tape player in her hand.
“Tapes?”Su Xiao said,surprised.“I don’t think so.We mostly sell books.”
The woman’s face fell.“Oh.I’m sorry,I just…I’ve been looking everywhere for a tape from 1998.It’s called Rainy Days and Memories,by a singer named Lin Xiaoman.Do you know it?”
Su Xiao’s heart stopped.Lin Xiaoman.The name sounded familiar,but she couldn’t place it.Then she remembered—the notebook.She’d written about a tape from1998,and now this woman was looking for the same thing.It couldn’t be a coincidence.
“I…I don’t know the singer,”Su Xiao said,trying to keep her voice steady.“But maybe you could tell me more about the tape?Why is it so important?”
The woman sighed and leaned against the shelf.“My name is Lin Xiaoman,”she said.“Well,not exactly—I’m named after her.She was my mom’s best friend.They grew up together in Shanghai,and they were both crazy about music.In 1998,my mom gave Lin Xiaoman a tape of her singing—original songs,nothing famous—and Lin Xiaoman said she’d keep it forever.But then they had a fight,and they stopped talking.My mom has been looking for that tape ever since,hoping it would help her find Lin Xiaoman again.She’s sick now,and…she just wants to say she’s sorry.”
Su Xiao felt a lump in her throat.She thought about her own mom,who was always nagging her to call more often,and how scared she’d be if they ever stopped talking.She thought about the notebook,and the wish she’d written.Could the notebook help?
“Wait here,”Su Xiao said.She ran to the counter,grabbed her bag,and pulled out the notebook.She flipped to a blank page,picked up a pen,and wrote as fast as she could:I wish Lin Xiaoman—my mom’s friend—could hear the tape from 1998.I wish they could talk again.
As soon as she finished writing,the page started to warm up again,just like it had last night.This time,though,the warmth spread faster,up her arm and into her chest,and suddenly,everything went blurry.The shelves around her started to spin,the sound of the rain outside faded,and she felt like she was falling.
When she opened her eyes,she wasn’t in the bookstore anymore.
She was standing in a small,dimly lit room with peeling wallpaper and a single window that looked out onto a narrow alley.The air smelled like jasmine tea and fried dumplings,and from somewhere outside,she could hear the sound of a bicycle bell and a woman singing a song she didn’t recognize.On the table in front of her was a tape player—old,silver,with a crack in the side—and a tape labeled Rainy Days and Memories in handwriting that looked just like the one in the notebook.
Su Xiao walked over to the table,her legs shaking.She picked up the tape,turned it over in her hand,and saw that there was a name written on the back:“For Xiaoman—my best friend,always.”It was signed“Mei.”
“Mei?”a voice said from behind her.
Su Xiao turned around.A girl was standing in the doorway,her hair in two braids,wearing a blue school uniform with a red scarf around her neck.She looked about sixteen,with big eyes and a smile that lit up her face.Su Xiao recognized her immediately—it was Lin Xiaoman,but younger.
“Who are you?”the girl asked,frowning.“This is my room.What are you doing here?”
Su Xiao opened her mouth to answer,but no words came out.She didn’t know what to say—how do you explain that you’re from the future,and you’re here because of a magic notebook?
“I…I’m a friend of your mom’s,”she said,finally.It was a lie,but it was the only thing she could think of.
The girl’s eyes widened.“My mom?But she’s…she’s not here right now.She went to the market to buy dumplings.”
Su Xiao looked around the room again.There were posters on the wall—of singers from the 90s,of movie stars—and a stack of textbooks on the desk.On the bed,there was a teddy bear with one eye missing,and a photo frame with a picture of two girls—Mei and Xiaoman,she guessed—smiling and holding up a tape.
“I’m here about the tape,”Su Xiao said.She held up the tape player.“The one Mei gave you.Rainy Days and Memories.”
Xiaoman’s smile faded.She walked over to the bed and sat down,her hands in her lap.“I don’t want to talk about that tape,”she said,her voice quiet.
“Why not?”Su Xiao asked.
“Because Mei and I fought about it,”Xiaoman said.“She said I didn’t care about her music,that I was too busy with my new friends to listen to her sing.I told her she was being stupid,that her songs weren’t even good.I…I said a lot of mean things.Then she left,and I never saw her again.I tried to find her,but her family moved away,and I didn’t have her new address.I’ve been looking for her ever since,but…I don’t think she wants to see me.”
Su Xiao sat down next to her.“What if she does?”she said.“What if she’s been looking for you too?”
Xiaoman shook her head.“She wouldn’t.I hurt her feelings.The tape was the only thing she had that mattered to her,and I didn’t even listen to it.”She picked up the teddy bear and hugged it to her chest.“I still have the tape,though.I couldn’t bringmyself to throw it away.I listen to it sometimes,when it rains.It makes me feel like she’s still here.”
Su Xiao thought about the woman in the red jacket—the one who was looking for the tape for her mom.She thought about Mei,sitting at home,sick,waiting to say sorry.She knew she had to do something.
“Can I see the tape?”she asked.
Xiaoman nodded and handed it to her.Su Xiao put it into the tape player,pressed play,and waited.For a moment,there was only static,then a soft,clear voice started to sing.It was a slow song,about rain and friendship and never wanting to let go,and as Su Xiao listened,she felt tears in her eyes.It was a beautiful song,full of heart,and she could hear the love in Mei’s voice—for Xiaoman,for music,for the future they’d planned together.
When the song ended,Su Xiao pressed stop and looked at Xiaoman.She was crying,her face buried in the teddy bear.
“I’m so sorry,Mei,”she whispered.“I’m so,so sorry.”
Just then,the room started to spin again,and the warmth in Su Xiao’s chest came back.She closed her eyes,and when she opened them,she was back in the bookstore.The woman in the red jacket was still standing there,looking at her with a confused expression.
“Are you okay?”the woman asked.“You just stood there for a minute,like you were in a trance.”
Su Xiao took a deep breath.“I’m fine,”she said.“And I think I know where your mom’s tape is.”
She pulled the notebook out of her bag and flipped to the page where she’d written her wish.The ink was gone,but there was something new there—a small,folded piece of paper.She unfolded it,and saw that it was a map,with a red X marked on it.The address was a small apartment building in the old part of the city—exactly where Lin Xiaoman,the woman in the red jacket,had said her mother grew up.
“The X marks an old storage closet in the building’s basement,”Su Xiao explained,pointing to the map.“I think the tape’s there.It’s…it’s where Xiaoman—your mom’s friend—kept it all these years.”
Lin(the younger one,she’d since asked to be called Xiao Lin)stared at the map,her hands trembling.“How did you…h(huán)ow do you know this?”
Su Xiao hesitated.She couldn’t tell the truth—not yet,not when it sounded so impossible.“I just…h(huán)ad a feeling,”she said,which wasn’t entirely a lie.The memory of Xiaoman’s 1998 bedroom,the smell of jasmine tea,the sound of that song—it felt like a truth she’d carried forever.
Xiao Lin folded the map carefully and slipped it into her pocket.“Thank you,”she said,her voice thick with tears.“If this works…if I can give my mom the tape…I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Just tell me how it goes,”Su Xiao said,smiling.
Xiao Lin left the bookstore,her steps lighter than before,and Su Xiao leaned against the counter,letting out a long breath.The notebook in her hand felt warmer than ever,as if it was happy—proud,even—of what she’d done.
She didn’t notice Grandpa Chen standing in the back of the store until he spoke.“You shouldn’t have done that,”he said,his voice cold.
Su Xiao jumped.She’d never heard him sound like that—sharp,almost angry.“Done what?”she asked,tucking the notebook behind her back.
“Meddled with the past,”he said,stepping closer.His eyes were dark,his usual calm gone.“That notebook isn’t a toy.It doesn’t exist to fix people’s mistakes.”
Su Xiao’s throat tightened.“But it helped.Xiao Lin’s mom is sick,and—”
“And what about the cost?”Grandpa Chen cut in.“Every time you open that notebook,every wish you write—you think there’s no price?You’re not just looking at memories,Su Xiao.You’re stirring them up.And some memories were meant to stay buried.”
He reached out,like he was going to take the notebook from her,but Su Xiao stepped back.“Why do you care so much?”she asked.“Do you know where this notebook came from?Is it yours?”
Grandpa Chen’s face softened for a second—just a second—before he turned away.
“It doesn’t matter,”he said.“Put it back.Where you found it.And never touch it again.”
He walked up the stairs to his apartment above the store,leaving Su Xiao alone with the notebook.She stared at the leather cover,at the faint scuff marks she’d come to recognize,and wondered what secrets he was hiding.Why was he so afraid of the
notebook?What memories did he want to stay buried?
That night,Su Xiao didn’t sleep.She lay in bed,the notebook on her nightstand,and thought about Grandpa Chen’s words.She thought about the warmth of the notebook,the way it had let her step into Xiaoman’s past,the way Xiao Lin’s face had lit up when she saw the map.Was it really wrong to help?To fix a mistake that had hurt two people for decades?
Just before dawn,she made a decision.She picked up the notebook and flipped to a new page.She didn’t write a wish—not exactly.She wrote a question:
Who are you?And why does Grandpa Chen want you hidden?
The page warmed up,but this time,no memories came.No maps,no voices,no flashes of the past.Instead,a single line of ink appeared,written in the same small,neat handwriting as the scattered notes:
I am a promise.And some promises are broken for a reason.
Su Xiao stared at the words until the sun came up.A promise?Broken for a reason?What did that mean?
She took the notebook to the store the next day,but she didn’t put it back.She hid it in her bag,under her textbook,and tried to avoid Grandpa Chen.He didn’t speak to her again—didn’t nod,didn’t point to the unsorted books—he just stood in the back,dusting the same shelf over and over,like he was waiting for something to change.
Three days later,Xiao Lin came back to the bookstore.She was smiling,and she held a small,silver tape player in her hand.
“We found it,”she said,holding up the tape player.“The tape was in a box in the basement—just like the map said.My mom listened to it last night.She cried,and then she called Xiaoman.They talked for two hours.Xiaoman lives in Beijing now,with her own kids.They’re going to meet next week.”
Su Xiao’s heart felt light,like a weight she didn’t know she was carrying had lifted.“That’s amazing,”she said.
Xiao Lin handed her a small envelope.“Xiaoman wanted me to give you this.She said…she said she doesn’t know who you are,but she feels like she owes you.”
Su Xiao opened the envelope.Inside was a photo—black-and-white,faded at the edges.It showed two girls,around sixteen,standing in front of a bookstore.One had pigtails and a big smile—Xiaoman,young and happy.The other had short hair and a shy grin,holding a tape in her hand.Mei,Xiao Lin’s mom.
But that wasn’t what made Su Xiao gasp.
In the background of the photo,leaning against the bookstore’s doorframe,was a young man.He was tall,with dark hair and a familiar look in his eyes—the same eyes that crinkled when he smiled,the same hands that moved slowly when he dusted.
It was Grandpa Chen.
“He was there,”Su Xiao whispered,staring at the photo.“In 1998.He knew them.”
Xiao Lin nodded.“Xiaoman said he was a regular at the bookstore back then.Her parents owned it,before they moved.She said he was quiet,always reading,but he’d sometimes help her carry boxes of books.She didn’t know his name,though.Just called him‘the quiet boy.’”
Su Xiao closed the envelope,her mind racing.Grandpa Chen had known Xiaoman and Mei.He’d been there,in 1998,when their friendship fell apart.He’d known about the tape,about the fight,about everything.And he’d never said a word.
Why?
That night,after the store closed,Su Xiao waited for Grandpa Chen to go up to his apartment.But he didn’t.He sat in the armchair by the window,staring at the rain outside,his hands clasped tightly.
Su Xiao took a deep breath and walked over.She held out the photo.“I saw this,”she said.“You knew them.Xiaoman and Mei.”
Grandpa Chen looked at the photo.His hands started to shake.“Yes,”he said,his voice barely a whisper.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”Su Xiao asked.“Why did you get so angry when I used the notebook to help them?”
He closed his eyes.“Because I was there,”he said.“The day they fought.I was in the bookstore,reading.I heard everything.Mei cried for hours after Xiaoman left.
She said she’d never forgive herself.And Xiaoman…she came back the next day,looking for Mei,but Mei’s family had already packed their bags.They moved that night.”
Su Xiao sat down next to him.“So why stop me from helping?You could have fixed it back then.”
Grandpa Chen opened his eyes.They were wet,glistening with tears.“Because I couldn’t,”he said.“I was just a kid.I didn’t know what to do.I watched two people I cared about lose each other,and I did nothing.For years,I wondered if I could have stopped it.If I’d said something,if I’d given Mei a message,if I’d…if I’d been brave.”
He paused,then looked at Su Xiao.“That notebook?It’s a curse.Because it makes you think you can fix the past.But you can’t.All you do is remind people of what they lost.Of what they could have had.”
Su Xiao thought about the photo,about Mei and Xiaoman talking again,about Xiao Lin’s smile.“But it worked,”she said.“They’re going to meet.They’re going to say sorry.”
“For now,”Grandpa Chen said.“But what about the next time?What about when you write a wish and it doesn’t work?When it hurts someone instead of helping?You can’t play God with memories,Su Xiao.Some things are better left as they are.”
He stood up and walked to the stairs.“Put the notebook back,”he said,his voice soft again.“Please.”
Su Xiao watched him go,the photo in her hand,the notebook in her bag.She thought about his words—about the curse,about the price of fixing the past—and wondered if he was right.But then she thought about Mei’s voice on the tape,about Xiaoman’s tears,about the way two old friends were going to hug each other next week,and she knew she couldn’t put the notebook back.Not yet.
There was still one secret left to uncover.Why had Grandpa Chen kept the notebook hidden?What promise had it been?And who had broken it?
She flipped to a new page in the notebook and picked up her pen.This time,she wrote a name:
Chen Wei.
It was a guess—she’d never heard Grandpa Chen’s first name,but it felt right,like she’d known it all along.
The page warmed up,faster than before,and suddenly,Su Xiao was falling.
When she opened her eyes,she was in Shiguang Bookstore—but not the one she knew.The shelves were newer,the walls painted a soft blue,and the air smelled like fresh paper instead of old ink.A young woman with short hair—Mei—was behind the counter,laughing as she stacked books.A younger Xiaoman was next to her,holding a tape player.
And by the door,leaning against the frame,was a young man.He was tall,with dark hair and a shy smile,and he was watching Mei like she was the only person in the room.
Grandpa Chen.Chen Wei.
“Are you going to ask her out,or are you just going to stand there all day?”Xiaoman said,grinning at Chen Wei.
Chen Wei’s face turned red.“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,”he said.
Mei laughed.“He’s been coming here every day for a month,Xiaoman.Just to‘read.’”She held up a book—Pride and Prejudice—that Su Xiao recognized.It was the same tattered copy with the coffee stain,the one she’d dusted a hundred times.“He hasn’t turned a page in weeks.”
Chen Wei looked at his shoes.“I just…like it here,”he said.“Quiet.Calm.”
Xiaoman rolled her eyes.“Sure.‘Quiet.’That’s why you’re here at 3 p.m.on a Saturday,when the store’s packed with kids.Because it’s‘quiet.’”
Mei shook her head,but she was smiling.“I’m closing early tomorrow.We’re going to see a movie—Titanic.You should come.With us.”
Chen Wei’s eyes lit up.“Really?I…I’d like that.”
Xiaoman winked at him.“See?That wasn’t so hard.”
Su Xiao watched them,her heart aching.She could see it—the way Chen Wei looked at Mei,the way Mei’s smile softened when she talked to him,the way Xiaoman teased them like they were already a couple.They were happy.Young.Full of hope.
Then the memory shifted.
It was raining—hard.The bookstore was closed,the lights off except for a single lamp by the door.Chen Wei was standing there,holding a movie ticket in his hand.Mei was in front of him,her eyes red.
“I can’t go,”she said.“My mom’s sick.We’re moving to Guangzhou tomorrow.To be with my aunt.”
Chen Wei froze.“Tomorrow?You…you didn’t tell me.”
“I just found out,”she said,crying.“I’m sorry.I wanted to—”
“Why didn’t you say something?”he asked,his voice breaking.“We could have…I don’t know.We could have said goodbye properly.”
Mei wiped her tears.“I didn’t want to say goodbye.Not to you.”She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook—small,brown leather,scuffed at the edges.The notebook.“Take this.Write to me.I’ll give you my aunt’s address.I’ll write back.I promise.”
Chen Wei took the notebook.He held it like it was made of glass.“I’ll write every day,”he said.“I’ll wait for you.however long it takes.”
Mei hugged him.“I’ll come back,”she said.“I promise.”
She left,running into the rain,and Chen Wei stood there,holding the notebook,until the lamp burned out.
The memory faded,and Su Xiao was back in her bedroom.The notebook was in her hand,and there was a tear on the page—her tear,she realized.She’d been crying.
She now understood.Grandpa Chen—Chen Wei—had loved Mei.She’d loved him back.They’d planned to see a movie,to write to each other,to wait.But then Mei had moved,and something had gone wrong.He’d kept the notebook,all these years,because it was the last thing she’d given him.The last promise she’d made.
But why had she never come back?Why had he never talked about her?
Su Xiao flipped to the hidden compartment—the one she’d never opened—and pried it open.Inside was a folded piece of paper.She unfolded it,and her breath caught.
It was a letter.Written in Mei’s handwriting.Dated 1999—one year after she’d moved.
Dear Chen Wei,
I’m sorry I haven’t written.I wanted to,so many times.But my mom’s sicker now,and I’ve been working two jobs to help pay the bills.I don’t have much time to think,let alone write.
I miss you.I miss the bookstore,and our talks about Jane Austen,and the way you’d pretend to read when you were really watching me.I miss the way you smiled when you saw me.
I’m not coming back.Guangzhou is my home now.My aunt needs me,and my mom…she doesn’t have much time left.I’m sorry.I know I promised.But some promises are impossible to keep.
Please don’t wait for me.Find someone else.Be happy.That’s all I want for you.Goodbye,Chen Wei.
Mei.
Su Xiao closed the letter.She now understood everything.Grandpa Chen had waited.He’d written letters,even though she never replied.He’d kept the notebook,kept the bookstore,kept the memory of her alive,even when she’d told him to move on.
He’d hidden the notebook because it was a reminder of the promise she’d broken—the love he’d lost.
He’d been afraid of the notebook because it was a reminder of his own heartbreak.
The next morning,Su Xiao went to the bookstore early.Grandpa Chen was already there,sitting in the armchair,staring at the rain outside.He looked older than usual—tired,sad.
Su Xiao’s fingers trembled as she stared at the blank page where her words had vanished.The notebook’s leather cover seemed to pulse faintly,like a heartbeat,and she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was trying to tell her something more—something beyond the scattered lines and hidden compartment.She slipped it back into her jeans pocket,but the warmth of it seeped through the fabric,a constant reminder of the mystery she’d stumbled into.
The next afternoon,the bookstore was busier than usual.A group of middle school students clustered around the graphic novel section,arguing over who got to borrow the latest volume of their favorite series,while an elderly man in a tweed jacket pored over the history books,muttering to himself about“inaccuracies in the Ming Dynasty timeline.”Su Xiao was ringing up a stack of poetry collections for a woman with wire-rimmed glasses when she heard a soft whimper from near the window.
She looked over and saw a little boy,no older than six,standing alone by the“Children’s Picture Books”shelf.His eyes were red,and he was clutching a tattered copy of Where the Wild Things Are to his chest,his lower lip quivering.Su Xiao finished helping the customer,handed her the receipt with a smile,then knelt down to the boy’s level.
“Hey there,”she said gently.“Are you lost?Did you come here with someone?”
The boy nodded,his voice small.“Mommy.She said she’d be right back,but she’s been gone forever.”He wiped his nose with the back of his hand,leaving a smudge of dirt on his cheek.“I tried to find her,but there are too many books,and I got scared.”
Su Xiao’s heart softened.She remembered being that age,clinging to her mom’s hand in crowded stores,terrified of losing her.She took the boy’s free hand—his palm was sweaty,and his fingers curled tightly around hers—and led him to the armchair by the window.Grandpa Chen was sitting there,as usual,but when he saw the boy’s tears,he set down his newspaper and leaned forward,his eyes softening.
“Want a cookie?”he asked,pulling a crinkly plastic bag from his pocket.It was filled with almond cookies,the kind that smelled like warm butter.The boy hesitated,then nodded,and Grandpa Chen handed him one.As the boy took a bite,crumbs falling onto his shirt,Grandpa Chen looked at Su Xiao,his gaze lingering on her pocket where the notebook was hidden.
“Maybe you can help him,”he said quietly.It wasn’t a question—more like a nudge,a silent acknowledgment of the notebook’s power.
Su Xiao bit her lip.She’d been scared to use the notebook again after Grandpa Chen’s warning,but the boy’s tears made her think differently.If it could help Xiao Lin’s mom,maybe it could help this little boy find his mother.She pulled the notebook out of her pocket,flipped to a blank page,and picked up a pen.
I wish this little boy could find his mommy.I wish she’d come back to him soon.
As soon as the last word was written,the page warmed up—warmer than it had before,like sunlight on skin.The boy stopped chewing,his eyes widening.“I smell her!”he said suddenly,jumping out of the chair.“I smell her perfume—strawberries!”
He tugged Su Xiao’s hand,pulling her toward the door.Grandpa Chen followed,his steps slow but steady.When they reached the sidewalk,the boy let go of Su Xiao’s hand and ran toward a woman in a pink jacket who was pacing back and forth,her phone pressed to her ear.
“Mommy!”he yelled.
The woman spun around,her face lighting up.She dropped her phone and knelt down,catching the boy in a tight hug.“Oh,my baby!I’m so sorry I left you—my phone died,and I couldn’t find the store,and I was so scared.”She kissed his forehead,then looked up at Su Xiao and Grandpa Chen,her eyes filled with tears.“Thank you.Thank you so much for taking care of him.”
Su Xiao smiled.“He’s a brave little guy.He found us before we found you.”As the woman and the boy walked away,the boy waving over his shoulder,Su Xiao looked down at the notebook in her hand.The ink of her wish was gone,but the warmth remained,like a gentle hug.
Grandpa Chen cleared his throat.“That wasn’t…so bad,”he said,his voice gruff but not unkind.“But don’t get used to it.The notebook doesn’t always give happy endings.”
Su Xiao nodded,but she couldn’t help feeling hopeful.Maybe the notebook wasn’t just a curse.Maybe it was a second chance—for people to fix their mistakes,to find their way back to each other,to hold onto the ones they loved.
That night,Su Xiao sat on her bed and flipped through the notebook again.She stopped at the page where she’d written about the 1998 tape,and for a moment,she swore she could hear the faint sound of a song—soft,sweet,and full of rain.She closed her eyes,and she imagined Mei and Xiaoman as teenagers,laughing in the bookstore,the tape player humming on the counter.She imagined Chen Wei,young and shy,watching Mei stack books,his heart full of love.
When she opened her eyes,she noticed something she hadn’t seen before.In the margin of the page,there was a tiny drawing—of a bookstore,with a bell above the door and a skylight letting in sunlight.It was crudely drawn,like a child’s sketch,but it looked exactly like Shiguang Bookstore.Su Xiao traced the drawing with her finger,wondering who had made it.Mei?Xiaoman?Chen Wei?
She flipped to the next page,and there was another drawing—this one of two girls holding hands,standing in front of the bookstore.One had braids,the other short hair.Xiaoman and Mei.Su Xiao smiled.These drawings weren’t just marks on paper—they were memories,frozen in time.They were proof that even when things fell apart,the love and friendship remained.
The next morning,when Su Xiao arrived at the bookstore,Grandpa Chen was already there,but he wasn’t dusting or reading the newspaper.He was standing in front of the“Fiction”shelf,staring at the spot where Su Xiao had found the notebook.When he saw her,he held out a small box—old,wooden,with a brass lock.
“I found this in the attic,”he said.“It belonged to Mei’s parents.They kept all their old things in it—photos,letters,little trinkets.”He handed her the box.“Open it.I think you should see what’s inside.”
Su Xiao took the box and sat down on the armchair.She fumbled with the lock—it was rusted,but it popped open with a little force.Inside,there were stacks of black-and-white photos:Mei and Xiaoman as kids,playing in the bookstore’s backyard;Mei’s parents,smiling behind the counter;a young Chen Wei,sitting on the floor,reading a book to a group of little kids.
There was also a stack of letters—all addressed to Chen Wei,from Mei.Su Xiao picked one up,dated 1998,just a few weeks after Mei had moved.She opened it,her hands shaking.
Dear Chen Wei,
I miss the bookstore.I miss the way the sunlight hits the shelves in the afternoon,and the way the old paper smells,and the way you laugh when I spill tea on the counter.My mom is feeling a little better,but she still gets tired easily.We’re living in a small apartment near my aunt’s house,and there’s a park down the street where I go for walks when I can’t sleep.
I haven’t forgotten about our movie date.I still have the ticket stub—It’s tucked in the back of my favorite book.Maybe one day,we’ll get to see Titanic together.Maybe one day,I’ll come back to Shiguang Bookstore,and you’ll be there,reading Pride and Prejudice,and we’ll pretend like no time has passed.
Write back soon.I’m waiting for your letter.
Love,Mei
Su Xiao looked up at Grandpa Chen.His eyes were wet,and he was staring at the letter,like he was reading it too.“I never got these,”he said.“Her aunt must have kept them.She never sent them to me.”
Su Xiao handed him the letter.“She didn’t forget you,”she said.“She never did.”
Grandpa Chen took the letter,his fingers brushing over Mei’s handwriting.He sat down next to Su Xiao and pulled out another letter from the box—this one dated 1999,the same year as the letter in the notebook’s hidden compartment.He opened it,and his breath caught.
Dear Chen Wei,
I’m so sorry I haven’t written.I’ve been working two jobs—one at a café,one at a bookstore—and I’m so tired all the time.My mom’s getting worse.The doctors say she doesn’t have much time left.I don’t know what to do.I miss you more than I can say.
I saw a poster for Titanic today.It’s playing at a small theater downtown.I stood there for a long time,staring at it,remembering our plan to see it together.I wish you were here.I wish things were different.
I’m not coming back.I can’t.But please,don’t forget me.Please,be happy.
Love,Mei
Grandpa Chen folded the letter and put it back in the box.He looked at Su Xiao,and for the first time,he didn’t look sad—he looked at peace.“Thank you,”he said.“For finding the notebook.For showing me these letters.For helping me remember that she loved me.”
Su Xiao smiled.“That’s what friends do.We help each other remember.”
She picked up the notebook and handed it to Grandpa Chen.“It should be yours,”she said.“It always was.”
Grandpa Chen took the notebook,then handed it back.“No,”he said.“It’s yours now.You understand it better than I do.You know that memories aren’t just about the past—they’re about the present.They’re about holding onto the people we love,even when they’re gone.”
Su Xiao took the notebook,and this time,she didn’t feel scared.She felt hopeful.She knew that there would be more stories—more people who needed help,more memories to uncover,more second chances.And she knew that she wouldn’t have to do it alone.She had Grandpa Chen,and the bookstore,and the notebook—all the things that made Shiguang Bookstore feel like home.
Su Xiao sat down next to him.She didn’t say anything at first.She just handed him the notebook,open to the hidden compartment,with Mei’s letter inside.
Grandpa Chen looked at it.His hands started to shake.He picked up the letter,and as he read it,tears rolled down his face—quiet,silent tears,the kind he’d been holding back for twenty-five years.
“I thought she forgot,”he said,his voice broken.“I thought she didn’t care.That’s why I never talked about her.Why I hid the notebook.I couldn’t bear to think she’d left me without a second thought.”
“She didn’t,”Su Xiao said.“She cared.She just…couldn’t come back.Life got in the way.”
Grandpa Chen folded the letter and put it back in the notebook.He handed the notebook to Su Xiao.“It’s yours now,”he said.“I don’t need it anymore.Not after today.”
Su Xiao shook her head.“It’s not mine.It’s yours.It always was.”She closed the notebook and set it on the table between them.“You don’t have to hide it anymore.Or the memories.They’re not a curse,Grandpa Chen.They’re a gift.Even the sad ones.”
Grandpa Chen looked at her.For the first time,he smiled—a real smile,wide and bright,the kind that crinkled his eyes.“Thank you,”he said.“For helping me remember.For helping me let go.”
That afternoon,Xiao Lin came back to the bookstore.She was with her mom—Mei—and Xiaoman.Mei was older,with gray in her hair,but she still had that same shy smile.When she saw Grandpa Chen,she froze.
“Chen Wei?”she said.
Grandpa Chen stood up.He looked at her,and for a second,Su Xiao thought he’d cry again.But instead,he smiled.
“Mei,”he said.“It’s good to see you.”
They talked for hours—about the past,about the years they’d lost,about the kids and the grandkids.Mei told him about her mom,about the two jobs,about how she’d kept his letters(all of them,even the ones she never replied to)in a box under her bed.Grandpa Chen told her about the bookstore,about the years he’d spent waiting,about the notebook.
When they left,Mei hugged him.“I’m sorry,”she said.“For everything.”
Grandpa Chen shook his head.“No need.The past is the past.We’re here now.That’s all that matters.”
After they left,Grandpa Chen turned to Su Xiao.“You were right,”he said.“Memories aren’t a curse.They’re a gift.
Chapter 3:The Whisper of Rain and an Unsent Letter
The rain started at dawn,tapping softly against the skylight of Shiguang Bookstore like tiny fingers begging to come in.Su Xiao pushed open the door with a umbrella in hand,her canvas bag slung over one shoulder—still dotted with those faint ink stains—and paused at the threshold.The air smelled different today:old paper and dried ink mixed with the fresh,damp scent of rain,and for a split second,she swore she caught a whiff of jasmine tea,faint as a memory.
Grandpa Chen was already there,but he wasn’t dusting or reading the newspaper.He stood by the“Fiction”shelf,the one where Su Xiao had found the notebook,his hand resting on the dark green book with the worn vine pattern.When he heard her enter,he turned,his eyes softer than usual—no sharpness,no wariness,just a quiet kind of sadness that made Su Xiao’s chest ache.
“Morning,”he said,his voice gravelly but not cold.It was the first time he’d greeted her outright in weeks.
Su Xiao set her umbrella by the door,shaking off the raindrops.“Morning.Did you…did you sleep okay?”
He shrugged,turning back to the shelf.His fingers traced the spine of the green book,slow and deliberate,like he was touching something precious.“Been thinking about 1998,”he said,so quiet she almost didn’t hear him.“About the rain that year.It rained for a month straight,you know?Mei hated it—said it made the books smell like‘wet socks and regret.’Xiaoman thought it was funny.She’d dance in the puddles outside and come in with her shoes soaking,just to make Mei roll her eyes.”
Su Xiao stepped closer,her shoes squeaking softly on the wooden floor.She’d never heard him talk about the past like this—never heard him say Mei’s name out loud,like it wasn’t a secret he’d buried under decades of dust.“Did you…dance in the puddles too?”she asked,trying to keep her voice light.
Grandpa Chen huffed a laugh,the first real one she’d ever heard from him.It was quiet,rough around the edges,but it made the wrinkles around his eyes crinkle in a way that felt familiar—like she’d seen it before,in a photo or a memory she hadn’t quite uncovered.“No.I was too busy pretending to read Pride and Prejudice to notice the rain.Mei used to tease me about it—said I was‘a(chǎn) book with legs’and needed to‘get some fresh air before I turned into a dust bunny.’”
He paused,his hand falling from the book.“She was right,of course.I should’ve talked to her more.Should’ve asked her to dance in the puddles.Should’ve…should’ve told her I didn’t care if she got my shoes wet.”
The rain picked up,drumming louder on the skylight.Su Xiao looked at the notebook in her bag—she’d brought it,just in case,even though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t use it again.But now,watching Grandpa Chen stare at the shelf like he was staring at a ghost,she wondered if maybe she didn’t need to write a wish.Maybe she just needed to listen.
“Can you tell me more?”she asked.“About Mei.About 1998.”
Grandpa Chen hesitated,then nodded.He walked to the armchair by the window and sat down,patting the spot next to him.Su Xiao sat,and for the next hour,he talked—about Mei’s love for jasmine tea(she’d bring a thermos every day and share it with Xiaoman,even when she complained it was“too sweet”),about Xiaoman’s habit of humming off-key while she stacked books(it drove the regulars crazy,but Mei would hum along just to annoy her),about the day Mei gave him that tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice.
“She said it was‘a(chǎn) book for people who are too scared to say what they mean,’”he said,smiling faintly.“I didn’t get it then.Now…now I do.”
Su Xiao thought about the hidden compartment in the notebook,about the letter she still hadn’t opened.She thought about Mei’s words in the 1999 letter—I’m sorry.I know I promised.But some promises are impossible to keep—and wondered if Grandpa Chen had ever known how much Mei had cared.If he’d ever known she’d kept his letters,kept his memory,kept the notebook as a lifeline.
“I found something,”she said,reaching into her bag.She pulled out the notebook and set it on her lap,opening it to the hidden compartment.She hesitated for a second,then pried it open and pulled out the folded letter.“It’s from Mei.Dated 1999.”
Grandpa Chen’s breath caught.His hands trembled as he reached for it,like he was afraid it would vanish if he moved too fast.He unfolded it slowly,his eyes scanning the words,and for a long time,he didn’t speak.The only sounds were the rain on the skylight and the soft rustle of the letter in his hands.
“She didn’t forget,”he said finally,his voice breaking.“I thought…I thought she’d moved on.That I was just a memory she’d tossed away.But she didn’t.”
Tears rolled down his cheeks,quiet and slow,and he didn’t wipe them away.Su Xiao handed him a tissue from her bag,and he took it,nodding his thanks.“I kept the notebook because it was the last thing she gave me,”he said.“I hid it because…because it hurt.Every time I looked at it,I remembered what I’d lost.What I could’ve had.”
“But it’s not just loss,right?”Su Xiao said.“It’s also the good things.The jasmine tea.The off-key humming.The way she teased you about being a dust bunny.”
Grandpa Chen looked at her,and for the first time,his eyes didn’t hold sadness.They held something softer—gratitude,maybe,or acceptance.“Yeah,”he said.“It’s all of it.The good and the bad.The‘what ifs’and the‘what was.’”
The bell above the door jingled,and a customer walked in—a woman with a umbrella,looking for a book to read while she waited out the rain.Su Xiao stood up,tucking the notebook back into her bag,and greeted her with a smile.As she helped the woman find a copy of Wuthering Heights(Xiaoman’s favorite,Grandpa Chen had mentioned),she glanced over at him.He was still holding the letter,but now he was smiling—not a faint,sad smile,but a real one,like he’d finally let go of a weight he’d carried for twenty-five years.
When the customer left,Grandpa Chen folded the letter and handed it back to Su Xiao.“Put it back,”he said.“In the notebook.It belongs there.With the rest of the memories.”
Su Xiao nodded.She opened the notebook,slipped the letter into the hidden compartment,and closed it gently.The leather cover felt warm in her hands,not like a curse,but like a hug—like the kind of hug you get from someone who’s been waiting a long time to say goodbye.
Grandpa Chen stood up and walked to the counter.He picked up a mug and filled it with hot water,then added a tea bag—jasmine,Su Xiao noticed.“For you,”he said,handing it to her.“Mei would’ve wanted you to have it.”
Su Xiao took the mug,her fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic.The scent of jasmine filled her nose,and for a second,she swore she could hear Mei’s laugh,light and bright,mixing with the sound of the rain.She took a sip,and it tasted like memory—like 1998,like puddles and off-key humming and a notebook full of secrets.
The rain slowed as the afternoon wore on,and by dusk,the sun peeked through the clouds,painting streaks of pink and orange across the sky.Su Xiao finished organizing the“Mystery”section,and Grandpa Chen rearranged the“Staff Picks”shelf—adding that tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice next to a book of poetry Mei had loved.
As she locked up,Su Xiao looked at the notebook in her bag.She didn’t know what would happen next—if she’d use it again,if more secrets would unfold,if the past would keep whispering into the present.But she knew one thing:Shiguang Bookstore wasn’t just a place full of old books.It was a place full of memories—good ones,bad ones,and the ones that were still waiting to be told.
And somewhere,in the quiet of the rain,Mei and Chen Wei’s memories were finally at peace.
Chapter 4:The Notebook’s New Home and the Scent of New Memories
Su Xiao leaned against the counter,watching Grandpa Chen rearrange the“Staff
Picks”shelf—something he’d never bothered with before.He’d placed Pride and
Prejudice front and center,its coffee stain still visible,and next to it,a tattered copy of Titanic:The Novelization—the book Mei had mentioned loving as a teen.When he stepped back to admire his work,his eyes met Su Xiao’s,and he nodded,a small,
content smile on his face.
“The notebook,”he said,gesturing to the leather-bound book on the windowsill,
where sunlight spilled over its scuffed cover.“I think it should stay there.For anyone who needs it.”
Su Xiao walked over and picked it up.It felt lighter now,like the weight of decades of secrets had lifted.She flipped through the pages—empty,except for the faint,faded lines from years ago:“April 15th,rainy,”“The song on the radio today,”“I saw her
again.”They no longer felt like fragments of a broken story;they felt like echoes of hope.
“Will it still work?”she asked,running her finger over the hidden compartment where Mei’s letter now lay,tucked safely inside.
Grandpa Chen shrugged,but his eyes twinkled.“Maybe.Maybe not.But that’s the point,isn’t it?Memories don’t need magic to matter.
Sometimes,just talking about them is enough.”
Over the next few weeks,Shiguang Bookstore changed.Grandpa Chen started telling stories—quietly,to anyone who asked.He’d point to a book and say,“This one was Mei’s favorite,”or“Xiaoman used to read this to her little brother on weekends.”
Customers started lingering longer,drawn to the warmth of his stories,to the way he’d laugh when he talked about the time Xiaoman spilled tea on a first edition of Wuthering Heights.
Su Xiao kept working there,but her shifts felt different now.She’d still dust the
shelves and organize the new arrivals,but she’d also sit in the armchair by the
window and flip through the notebook,not to write wishes,but to trace the lines of Mei’s handwriting,to imagine Chen Wei as a young man,waiting for the girl he
loved.
One Saturday afternoon,a little girl walked into the store with her mom.
She was about seven,with pigtails and a missing front tooth,and she tugged on Su Xiao’s sleeve.
“Miss,do you have any books about magic notebooks?”she asked,her eyes wide.Su Xiao knelt down,smiling.“We might.What kind of magic are you looking for?”
The girl thought for a second.“The kind that helps people say sorry.My best friend moved away,and I didn’t get to tell her I was sad.”
Su Xiao glanced at Grandpa Chen,who was watching them from the back.He
nodded,so she picked up the notebook from the windowsill and handed it to the girl.
“Hold this,”she said.“And tell your friend how you feel—out loud.Sometimes,just saying it is the magic.”
The girl hugged the notebook to her chest.She closed her eyes and whispered,“Lily,I miss you.I’m sorry I didn’t hug you goodbye.”When she opened her eyes,she
smiled.“I feel better,”she said.
Her mom thanked Su Xiao and took the girl’s hand.As they walked out,the girl
turned and waved,still clutching the notebook.Su Xiao started to reach for it—then stopped.Let her keep it,she thought.It’s not mine to hold anymore.
Grandpa Chen walked over,carrying two mugs of jasmine tea—Mei’s favorite.He handed one to Su Xiao.
“You did the right thing,”he said.
She sipped the tea,its sweet scent bringing back the memory of Xiaoman’s 1998
bedroom,of jasmine and rain and a tape player singing softly.“Do you think Mei and Xiaoman will come back?”she asked.
“They don’t need to,”he said.“They’re here—every time I look at that Pride and Prejudice,every time I smell jasmine tea,every time a kid comes in looking for a magic book.Memories aren’t just in the past,Su Xiao.They’re in the now.”
That evening,as Su Xiao locked up the store,she paused by the windowsill.The
notebook was gone,but its presence still lingered—in the way the sunlight hit the
shelves,in the soft rustle of old pages,in the quiet warmth of the space.She thought
about Chen Wei and Mei,about Xiaoman and Lily,about all the people who’d
walked through these doors carrying their own memories,their own regrets,their own hopes.
She pulled out her phone and called her mom.“Hi,Mom,”she said.“I miss you.Can we get dumplings tomorrow?Your favorite kind.”
On the other end of the line,her mom laughed.“I’d like that,”she said.
Su Xiao hung up and smiled.Grandpa Chen was right.Memories weren’t about fixing the past.They were about holding onto the people we loved,about saying the things we needed to say,about finding magic in the quiet,ordinary moments—like a cup of jasmine tea,a tattered book,or a phone call with Mom.
She turned off the lights and walked out into the night.The bell above the door
jingled softly,a goodbye and a hello,all at once.Shiguang Bookstore stood quiet,its shelves filled with stories—old ones,new ones,and the ones still waiting to be told.
And somewhere,a little girl named Lily was telling her friend goodbye,again—this time,with a smile.
The end.
