2

Sarah Thompson.

I confess that I have been a bit nervous and anxious, since I woke up... My chest goes up and down, and I do not stop smiling. I ate very little today, earlier, because my mind is so agitated at the moment.

I slept a few hours the night before, wondering what it would be like today.

It was the day of my launch. The launch of my book.

My long-awaited dream was finally printed in ink, hardcover, and smelling like new paper.

I had this dream for a long time, since I was a teenager. I kept imagining the day I would publish my first book when I would sign it.

And now I was in the bookstore where the autograph would happen, in the central bookstore of London, everything was already ready.

There were arrangements of flowers on the tables and discreet balloons decorating the shelves. Everything was so beautiful.

My parents had organized everything with such care that it felt like a surprise birthday party. My friends from school and college came, my cousins, my aunts, even my high school literature teacher showed up.

Everyone was there. Their support was the most important thing in my life.

The place was packed, at least for me, who expected to see fewer people. And as the minutes passed, the more crowded it got.

I walked and went to the table where I was going to give the autographs, my books were on the table.

I had asked the illustrator to make a beautiful cover, that portrayed well the magic of the story, the couple was in the center of the cover. However, it was not as flashy, not like the covers of the best-selling authors, but it was beautiful and showed what I wanted to all readers.

The story itself was romantic, with that touch of fantasy, mentioned a powerful magician and a fragile human who fall in love at first sight. Their journey was full of obstacles, doubts, and discoveries.

A light but intense romance. I wrote as if I were pouring my soul out there. Anyone who read it would perhaps understand me better than anyone who knew me.

“Thank you for coming!” I said to every familiar face.

“I'm glad you like it!” I smiled at every compliment.

“Of course I'll sign it for your sister too!”

I've always been like that—open, welcoming. That's what they said. They called me sweet, gentle, and dreamy — and, honestly, I didn't see a problem with that. I like who I am. I like to see everyone happy to give a little love to the world.

The afternoon flew by, I didn't even notice the time passing — I was so excited and enthusiastic.

There were countless books, plenty of smiles, and numerous photos. Until a man joined the queue and everything slowed down for a moment.

He was different. He was alone. A little older, maybe almost thirty, I thought. He wore glasses, but they were a little dark. He came a little closer, looking at me...

His hair was straight, dark brown, a little below his ears. He had stubble. He wore a simple shirt, but it was well ironed.

He looked a little muscular, his shoulders were broad, his arms strong.

But he had a severe and... intense look.

When his eyes looked at mine, I felt like I was on a roller coaster; my stomach froze. It wasn’t fear. It was a kind of strange feeling, that intrigued me. As if he recognized me, even though he had never seen us before.

The man was looking at me for a few seconds that, in my opinion, took longer than that. I smile, trying to be sweet, even with his heart a bit out of control at that moment.

Why was I... feeling it? Why did my heart beat at this pace?

I then broke that long silence.

"Hi! Welcome, sir, thank you for coming today. I hope you enjoyed the book," I said, trying to be nice.

He took a deep breath, blinking his eyes for a moment, scratching his throat.

“I... I read your book today. I bought it by chance. But I couldn't put it down.”

He paused.

“You write... in a way... that grabs you. It was like I knew that story.”

I felt my cheeks flush. He had liked the book, and that made me delighted. I smiled even more.

“Wow... that's so charming. Thank you so much, really. It's my first book, so hearing that means a lot to me.”

“Your name?” I asked, picking up a pen.

“Edgar,” he replied. The name suited him.

He handed me the book, and I took it, placed it on the table, and began to write.

I spelled carefully, wanting to write something beautiful.

To Edgar, who immersed himself in my words with an open soul. May the magic of reading never be absent from your days. — Sara Thompson.

He read what I wrote before walking away. He didn't answer. The man just smiled, his eyes still on me, without looking away. And then he left.

I couldn't get it out of my head. Something about him was... dense. As if he were carrying a heavy burden and had been through a lot in life. But at the same time, he seemed lighthearted when talking to me. I was unable to understand it.

I continued signing books, taking pictures with readers, and hugging family members. But at times, I felt something strange. As if someone were watching me. I discreetly turned to the side, but all I saw was a silhouette walking away between the shelves.

Maybe I was just tired. Or possibly, it was the butterflies in my stomach from living a dream.

It was almost nine o'clock when we finished. The bookstore needed to close, but part of me didn't want to leave. It was as if, finally, after so long, I was living, being happy, achieving everything I had ever dreamed of.

Everything had gone so well, so smoothly. And that only made it seem even more like a dream.

The launch of my first book was more than special, more than a success. It was a big step. The first of many. I left that bookstore with my heart full of good feelings—and with the strange feeling that something important had just begun.

Yes.

That would be my big start to everything.

My mother hugged me when we were in the car.

“Are you happy, my daughter?” She smiled at me, and I nodded in agreement.

“Very, Mom. It's the beginning of a dream.”