How did we find each other? I’d like to believe it was fate, that we were just meant to be. Maybe we couldn’t exist without each other in this cruel world… but the reason doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’m simply grateful for the day our lives crossed. Let me tell you how I remember it...
I could tell last winter would be one of the coldest winters ever. Still, no hailstorm could stop me from visiting the bookstore ‘Your Living City’ down the corner on Goran Halsinges Street. It was neither the most famous bookstore Stockholm had to offer, nor did it have a plethora of books across genres I preferred, but it did have an air of simplicity that I had grown quite fond of after my two weeks of traveling in Sweden. My endless love for books brought me together with Ida Berg, the owner of that little bookstore. Or rather, it pushed our heads together: she hurriedly went out the door, and I bumped into her.
She fell in love with me. She took me under her wing. I didn’t oppose her decision because to tell you the truth, I was broke.
I remember that day when I first met Olivia. I saw a shadow move behind the shelves to my left, almost like a phantom. I scanned it: female, posh fur coat and long dark hair with red tips. There was a sense to her, I could tell. She looked different from the usual crowd. She had me distracted by merely existing, standing in the same room and searching for a book. I wanted to know her. I needed to know her.
I left my desk, ignoring Astrid’s rasping voice, complaining that I wasn’t listening, “James, I need your help here.”
I moved closer to the beautiful shadow, watching her scrolling the pages of a book.
“You know, if you’re going to buy, you should probably choose—” I began.
“Chronicles of the Undead? Yeah, I know. Everyone is reading it nowadays. It’s a bloody pandemic, that book.” Her reply was witty, like she could easily have cut deep with her tone but decided only to take a pin prick out of me. She flipped the book in her hands closed, turned, and her eyes met mine. They were dark, filled with intensity, but somehow all mothered by a tenderness. Can you really see evil when you look into someone’s eyes?
“Some of us read other genres aside from romance, James,” she said.
“That’s not what I meant,” I replied as I smiled. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s on your badge,” she laughed. “So, did you come over here to impress me with your wide knowledge of literature? I hope by the end of the day, you’ll understand that I’m not the kind of woman who gets impressed by such things.”
“Day?” I echoed her words, then perked up and said, “You know, I wanted to recommend a pulp book called Bloody Smudge. Seems more like your taste.”
Looking into her eyes, I realized I didn’t want her to leave. Ever. I wanted to take her back to the apartment I never had—the apartment I shared with my hypersexual old employer, Ida Berg.
The young woman looked at my hand and saw the paperback I was handing her. She muttered as she took the book, “Pulp? Sounds more like a horror.”
I took in all of her, letting my mind stretch the seconds into minutes. She was different from other women I had met while working at the store. The others usually went to the romance section, but this one—with full pink lips and a V-shaped jawline was comfortable between horror, crime, and pulp.
She flipped through the paperback I handed her and glanced through the middle pages before stacking it on a pile of books she was taking with her.
“You look like a man with big secrets, James. Men with secrets almost always bring trouble, but I love trouble.”
The more she spoke, the more I wanted to fuck her.
“I hope you two aren’t having sex on my carpet back there!” Astrid yelled from the front desk. I was confident she had already sent an SMS to her mother with a list of complaints.
Ignore her, I thought to myself. And we both did. The air between us was almost electric. The woman in the beige coat demanded every ounce of my attention, and I surrendered it willingly. Nothing was more important to me than her wishes. She saw me. We hadn’t talked for ten minutes, and I knew she saw me. The real me.
“You look like you’re no stranger to trouble yourself. Tell me your name,” I answered.
She stared me down for a minute, searching for something inside her head. “My name is Olivia.”
A sarcastic, science-flavored rant about mitochondria, health geeks, AI, and ever-changing wellness advice — ending with the only cure that works: move your body.
CHAPTER 8. JAMES
How did we find each other? I’d like to believe it was fate, that we were just meant to be. Maybe we couldn’t exist without each other in this cruel world… but the reason doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I’m simply grateful for the day our lives crossed. Let me tell you how I remember it...
I could tell last winter would be one of the coldest winters ever. Still, no hailstorm could stop me from visiting the bookstore ‘Your Living City’ down the corner on Goran Halsinges Street. It was neither the most famous bookstore Stockholm had to offer, nor did it have a plethora of books across genres I preferred, but it did have an air of simplicity that I had grown quite fond of after my two weeks of traveling in Sweden. My endless love for books brought me together with Ida Berg, the owner of that little bookstore. Or rather, it pushed our heads together: she hurriedly went out the door, and I bumped into her.
She fell in love with me. She took me under her wing. I didn’t oppose her decision because to tell you the truth, I was broke.
I remember that day when I first met Olivia. I saw a shadow move behind the shelves to my left, almost like a phantom. I scanned it: female, posh fur coat and long dark hair with red tips. There was a sense to her, I could tell. She looked different from the usual crowd. She had me distracted by merely existing, standing in the same room and searching for a book. I wanted to know her. I needed to know her.
I left my desk, ignoring Astrid’s rasping voice, complaining that I wasn’t listening, “James, I need your help here.”
I moved closer to the beautiful shadow, watching her scrolling the pages of a book.
“You know, if you’re going to buy, you should probably choose—” I began.
“Chronicles of the Undead? Yeah, I know. Everyone is reading it nowadays. It’s a bloody pandemic, that book.” Her reply was witty, like she could easily have cut deep with her tone but decided only to take a pin prick out of me. She flipped the book in her hands closed, turned, and her eyes met mine. They were dark, filled with intensity, but somehow all mothered by a tenderness. Can you really see evil when you look into someone’s eyes?
“Some of us read other genres aside from romance, James,” she said.
“That’s not what I meant,” I replied as I smiled. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s on your badge,” she laughed. “So, did you come over here to impress me with your wide knowledge of literature? I hope by the end of the day, you’ll understand that I’m not the kind of woman who gets impressed by such things.”
“Day?” I echoed her words, then perked up and said, “You know, I wanted to recommend a pulp book called Bloody Smudge. Seems more like your taste.”
Looking into her eyes, I realized I didn’t want her to leave. Ever. I wanted to take her back to the apartment I never had—the apartment I shared with my hypersexual old employer, Ida Berg.
The young woman looked at my hand and saw the paperback I was handing her. She muttered as she took the book, “Pulp? Sounds more like a horror.”
I took in all of her, letting my mind stretch the seconds into minutes. She was different from other women I had met while working at the store. The others usually went to the romance section, but this one—with full pink lips and a V-shaped jawline was comfortable between horror, crime, and pulp.
She flipped through the paperback I handed her and glanced through the middle pages before stacking it on a pile of books she was taking with her.
“You look like a man with big secrets, James. Men with secrets almost always bring trouble, but I love trouble.”
The more she spoke, the more I wanted to fuck her.
“I hope you two aren’t having sex on my carpet back there!” Astrid yelled from the front desk. I was confident she had already sent an SMS to her mother with a list of complaints.
Ignore her, I thought to myself. And we both did. The air between us was almost electric. The woman in the beige coat demanded every ounce of my attention, and I surrendered it willingly. Nothing was more important to me than her wishes. She saw me. We hadn’t talked for ten minutes, and I knew she saw me. The real me.
“You look like you’re no stranger to trouble yourself. Tell me your name,” I answered.
She stared me down for a minute, searching for something inside her head. “My name is Olivia.”
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