Tina’s breath catches in her throat, her heart pressing against her ribs as if trying to memorize this moment.

Tina: Forever, (she repeats softly, testing the weight of the word. It doesn’t feel overwhelming. It feels like home)

Bette watches her, eyes tracing every delicate expression that flickers across Tina’s face.

Bette: Too much? (a teasing lilt in her voice, but there’s vulnerability there too)

Tina shakes her head, her fingers curling around Bette’s hand.

Tina: Not enough.

Bette exhales, the tension she didn’t realize she was holding slipping away. She tilts her head, her forehead resting against Tina’s.

Bette: You undo me, you know that?

Tina smiles, brushing her nose against Bette’s in the softest of touches.

Tina: Good. Because you’ve undone me since the moment, I met you.

The world outside the bookshop hums on, rain tapping softly against the windowpanes. But in their little corner of the universe, time slows. The books, the whispers, the weight of unsaid words everything fades until all that remains is the warmth between them.

Bette shifts, lifting Tina’s hand to her lips, pressing the softest kiss to her knuckles.

Bette: If this were a book, I’d never stop reading.

Tina closes her eyes, letting the steady rise and fall of Bette’s breath anchor her in the moment. In the quiet magic of the bookshop, with the scent of old pages and fresh coffee wrapping around them, everything feels beautifully, undeniably right.

And as Bette leans in, closing the space between them, their story unfolds one whispered word, one lingering touch, one forever written in the spaces only they can fill.

However, not everyone is happy with their blossoming relationship.

Henry sits at the far end of the bookshop, absentmindedly stirring his coffee, his gaze locked onto Tina and Bette. They’re seated by the window, completely lost in each other. Bette leans in, whispering something that makes Tina laugh really laugh the kind that crinkles the corners of her eyes and makes her reach for Bette’s arm without thinking.

Henry’s grip on his coffee cup tightens.

Henry (to himself, gritting his teeth): She never laughed like that with me… Did she?

A sharp pang of jealousy coils in his chest, bitter and suffocating. His stomach churns as he watches Bette tuck a loose strand of Tina’s hair behind her ear. Tina doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into the touch, her expression soft, adoring. Henry looks away, his jaw clenched.