Gemotions

The bookstore was quiet, the only sounds the rustle of turning pages and the occasional chime of the bell above the door. Eleanor sat by a window, bathed in the soft, diffused light, a book open in her lap. She hadn't even read the words; instead, she was just absorbing the gentle rhythm of the space. Her mother's final wishes, neatly typed on a yellowed sheet, were tucked away in her satchel. She knew that some of her mother's dreams would become her own. But not today. Today, the scent of old books and paper was enough.