The book sat on the counter for hours after Daniel left. Elena told herself she wouldn’t touch it, wouldn’t even acknowledge it. And yet, every time she glanced in its direction, the words inside the cover whispered to her.
Because some stories are never really over.
She hated how much it got under her skin.
By the time she locked up the shop for the night, she was exhausted—mentally, emotionally. The past had a way of creeping in like that, turning even a simple evening into a battlefield.
She grabbed the book, stuffing it into her bag without another thought, and stepped out into the crisp night air. The familiar streets of Fairhaven stretched before her, quiet and unchanged. Unlike her.
She had changed.
Her small apartment above the bookstore was her sanctuary, but tonight, it felt suffocating. Tossing her coat onto the chair, she pulled out the book and set it on the coffee table, staring at it like it might come alive.
Why now, Daniel?
Her fingers hovered over the spine before she finally gave in and opened it. The pages were worn but well-kept, the kind of book someone cherished.
On the inside cover, his handwriting stared back at her.
"To Elena—because some stories are never really over."
A chill ran down her spine.
Her grip tightened. She wanted to believe this was just an old memory, a foolish gesture from a man trying to make peace with his past. But that wasn’t Daniel. He didn’t do peace.
Her phone buzzed.
Elena hesitated before reaching for it, her stomach twisting.
Unknown Number: Did you read it?
She froze.
A slow, creeping unease settled in. She had never given Daniel her new number. Had never spoken to him in years.
Her pulse spiked as she typed back.
Elena: How did you get this number?
The response came almost instantly.
Unknown Number: You should know by now—I always find a way.
She swallowed hard, fingers tightening around her phone.
The city was small. Maybe he asked around. Maybe this wasn’t as unsettling as it felt.
But deep down, she knew better.
She stood abruptly, pacing across the room, the book still open on the table. Daniel had always been intense, possessive even, but this was different. This was calculated.
Another message.
Unknown Number: I shouldn’t have left.
Elena inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay calm. She wouldn’t let him pull her back in.
Elena: Well, you did. And you don’t get to just decide to walk back into my life like nothing happened.
Silence. For a moment, she thought the conversation was over.
And then—
Unknown Number: I never left, Elena.
Her breath hitched.
A knock sounded at the door.
Elena’s heart pounded.
She didn’t move.
Another knock.
Slower. More deliberate.
Her fingers hovered over her phone, debating whether to call someone. But who? Who would understand what it felt like to have a ghost from your past refuse to stay buried?
The knocking stopped.
Silence stretched, thick and heavy.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she took slow, careful steps toward the door. Peering through the peephole, she found nothing but the empty hallway beyond.
But on the floor, just outside her door, was another book.
A different one this time.
Her stomach dropped as she bent down and picked it up.
A copy of Jane Eyre.
She flipped open the cover, hands trembling.
Another inscription.
"You always loved this one too."
She slammed the book shut, breath coming in uneven gasps.
This wasn’t just Daniel trying to make amends.
This was something else entirely.
And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how the story ended.
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