Lavender Tea

The scent of lavender tea and old books clung to Elias like a second skin. Every Tuesday, Nora found herself drawn to it, drawn to him, amidst the dusty shelves of the second-hand bookstore. He moved with the quiet grace of turning pages, a murmur of forgotten stories on his lips, each motion was a measured movement of a lost count of time, an unknown song that seems so familiar in the wind. Nora, usually so vibrant, became muted in his presence, her words tumbling out in shy whispers yet rimmed with a golden light and warmth that only appeared in his presence.

Elias, she learned, was a ghostwriter, breathing life into the unsaid dreams of others. He spoke of distant lands and fantastical creatures, his voice painting vivid pictures in Nora's mind. She, in turn, poured her own dreams onto the canvas of their conversations - dreams of a cozy bookshop filled with laughter and sunshine and of adventures shared. The pictures a mind musters when enthralled by another. Enchanted so completely was she.

But Elias remained an enigma. He smiled politely, listened intently, yet a distance lingered in his eyes, like a faded map leading nowhere. He spoke of past loves, fleeting encounters, always in the past tense, never the present. Nora, her own heart swelling with unspoken affection, ached for him to reach back, to bridge the chasm between them.

One rainy Tuesday, the bookstore was empty except for them. As the storm raged outside, Nora confessed, on purpose but so quietly it could seem an accident. The silence that followed stretched, heavy with unspoken emotions.

Nothing was returned. His gaze drifted for a moment and then he simply shifted the conversation, the moment ticked by as if without notice and the talk fizzled out.

Nora's heart crumpled, the weight of his unspoken rejection settling on her chest. She understood, yet it didn't make the ache any less real.

They finished their tea in silence, the rain a drumbeat against the windowpane. As Nora left, she stole one last glance at Elias, his silhouette framed by the dusty shelves. He was a beautiful melody, now out of tune.

Leaving the bookstore, the rain felt cleansing, washing away the remnants of unspoken dreams. Maybe, someday, Elias' own story would find a new chapter, a chance to rewrite the ending, and maybe, their paths would cross again, under a different sky, with a different story waiting to be told. But deep down Nora knows such thoughts are a burden that wrench the soul dry of what love a heart has to give, and they will only keep her from being able to move on.