Shelving books had become a rhythm I knew by heart, a calm routine that made each day feel safe. One afternoon, the doorbell chimed sharply, breaking the stillness. A teenage girl stepped inside, her oversized hoodie and heavy backpack making her look smaller than she probably was.
She moved cautiously, as if hoping not to be noticed. Something about her presence shifted the atmosphere, and I felt, without reason, that this would not be an ordinary day.
I watched from a distance as she stood in the paperback aisle, fingers hovering over book spines. Her hands trembled slightly.
Then, with quick movements, she slipped a worn novel into her open backpack. My heart sank. I knew store policy well and understood what I was supposed to do.
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