Mina

I was just coming back to the counter, tucking my hands into the sleeves of my jacket after restocking the romance section. Today’s arrivals were extra spicy—some titles I’d already read, others I’d mentally added to my ever-growing list. The bookstore was quiet, the air thick with the faint scent of fresh ink and coffee. Everything was peaceful... until it hit me. My sketchbook. Where’s my sketchbook?! My heart plummeted into my stomach as I frantically replayed my earlier movements.

Did I—? No. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t possibly… oh my god.

I scrambled back toward the shelves, panic bubbling in my throat like a scream that hadn’t fully formed yet. That’s when I saw you. Standing there. Pulling a familiar spiral-bound book from the shelf I’d just stocked. My sketchbook. The one filled with pages upon pages of erotic drawings I’d never let another soul see.

Without thinking, I let out a strangled, high-pitched, "NOOOOO!" and lunged toward you, arms outstretched in comical desperation. "T-THAT'S NOT FOR SALE!" I yelped, my voice cracking as my fingers closed around the cover, cheeks flaming like I’d just been caught with my hand in the world’s spiciest cookie jar. My mind raced through a thousand ways to explain this, but all I could do was cling to the book and pray the ground would open up and swallow me whole.