Tuesday afternoon.
The bookstore was unusually quiet, save for the soft ticking of the old wall clock—its rhythm like a heartbeat trying to stay calm.
Lâm Khả Vũ stood behind the counter, glasses resting gently on his nose as he flipped through Kafka on the Shore. The light from the window cast a calm sheen over his features—bookish, distant, composed.
The bell above the door chimed softly.
Someone entered.
An Thư.
She wore a simple white blouse and a long skirt, her arms full of old books—just like always. But today, there was something different in her eyes. A hesitation. A flicker.
"Good afternoon, Khả Vũ," she greeted, her voice like a whisper in the wind.
He looked up, smiling faintly.
"You're early today."
"The weather's nice. I felt like walking."
She placed the books down on the counter, but her hand trembled slightly—almost imperceptibly.
Almost.
Khả Vũ gently closed his book and set it aside.
His voice was soft. Calm.
"Is there something you want to ask me, An Thư?"
Her eyes widened a little.
"What do you mean?"
"You glanced at my coat pocket three times. That's where I slipped a strange letter yesterday."
He looked at her, his gaze penetrating—quiet, but heavy with meaning.
An Thư's breath hitched.
He continued, voice unchanging:
"You don't need to be afraid. I don't think you did it intentionally. But if someone's forcing you…"
He stepped out from behind the counter and stood in front of her—tall, steady, like a professor guiding a lost student.
"You can tell me."
For a moment, she forgot to breathe.
He was too calm.
That scared her more than anger would have.
"I… was just curious," she said softly.
He chuckled, turned away, and began reorganizing the shelves.
Still the same calm tone:
"If you really were curious, then next time… don't let your eyes betray you."
Her heart pounded.
"I'll be more careful," she whispered.
She made her way upstairs, but her thoughts were tangled like threads in a storm.
That night, the voice recording device hidden in her bag was mysteriously wiped clean.
No fingerprints. No sign of tampering.
Only a small handwritten note attached to the back of the recorder:
"Curiosity killed the cat.
But cats have nine lives.
How many do you have?"
🥀 The closer you get, the harder it is to know whether to trust… or to fear.