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She didn't look up. She knew the regulars by their footsteps. Mr. Henderson shuffled. The college kids stomped. But these steps were steady, rhythmic, and unfamiliar.

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Over the next month, Julian became a fixture. He didn't just buy books; he read them in the velvet armchair by the window, occasionally looking up to catch Clara’s eye. They traded notes in the margins of used novels—scrawled thoughts on fate, the structure of cathedrals, and the best place to find late-night Thai food. She didn't look up

(e.g., bittersweet, lighthearted, intensely dramatic) Henderson shuffled

"Do you have anything on architectural history? Specifically the lost bridges of Florence?"

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