The Market Encounter
The Saturday market spread across the town square like a patchwork of colors, scents, and murmurs. Emily stepped into the lively hum with her canvas bag slung over her shoulder, her thoughts still tangled in the weight of the hidden box she’d found in the attic.
A hundred questions followed her like shadows, but she forced herself to breathe in the warm scent of fresh bread and remind her heart to stay present.
The market had always grounded her. Children chased each other between stalls, vendors called out prices, and the soft autumn breeze tugged at her hair. She walked slowly, letting the comfort of familiarity settle into her bones.
She stopped at her usual fruit stall and reached for a set of honey-gold apples. As she lifted one, her fingers brushed someone else’s firm, warm, unfamiliar. She drew in a sharp breath.
“Sorry” she said quickly.
“No, that’s my fault,” a voice replied.
She looked up, and for a moment time paused.
It was him.
The same man from the previous evening, the one she’d collided with outside the old bookshop. The same dark eyes, the same quiet steadiness. His hair was a little messy, like he’d run his hand through it one too many times, and the warmth in his gaze made her feel—strangely noticed.
Adrian.
She didn’t know this yet, not his name, not his story, not the way he would slowly unravel everything she believed about her past — but she felt the pull all the same.
“You again,” he said, a small smile forming. “I’m starting to think I owe you an apology for being in your way twice in two days.”
Emily laughed softly, a little flustered. “Or I owe you one. I seem to run into people when I’m distracted.”
“You’re distracted today too?” he asked, picking up an apple.
She hesitated. “Something like that.”
He didn’t pry. Instead, he held out the apple. “Here. This one’s better.”
She blinked. “How do you know?”
He turned the fruit gently, showing her the finer side, unbruised, smooth. “My grandfather had an orchard. I grew up around these.”
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He nodded once, then paid the vendor for a handful of fruits. She noticed the way the elderly stall owner greeted him warmly, like he came often, like the town already knew him — though Emily had never seen him before yesterday.
He stepped aside so she could pay, and for a moment they stood in a strangely comfortable silence.
“So…” Emily began, “do you live here?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. I’m here for…a little while.”
The pause in his voice felt deliberate. Measured.
“Work?” she asked.
He offered a half-smile. “You could say that.”
Emily sensed walls she couldn’t yet see through, but she didn’t feel pushed away — only intrigued.
They walked together, oddly in sync, drifting through the lines of stalls. Adrian didn’t talk much, but when he did, it was with careful sincerity. Emily found herself telling him about Mrs. Greene, the librarian who fueled her love for books, and about her mother, who always used this market as a ritual to “reset the mind.”
Adrian listened attentively. He had a way of making silence feel safe, not awkward.
After a while, they reached a small stall selling hand-carved trinkets. Adrian paused, his gaze falling on a wooden pendant shaped like a crescent moon.
“You like those?” Emily asked.
He ran his thumb over the surface. “It reminds me of something.”
“What something?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed the pendant to the vendor, paid for it, and closed it in his fist.
“I knew someone who used to have one,” he said quietly.
“Someone important?”
“Very.”
Emily sensed something unspoken there, grief, maybe, or longing – but she didn’t push.
As they moved on, she realized they’d nearly walked the entire square together. She found herself wishing the market were bigger.
“So,” Adrian said, finally meeting her gaze, “do you always wander markets alone?”
“Most of the time. My sister usually comes, but she’s away this week.”
“And your mother?”
“At home today. She…isn’t feeling well.”
A flicker passed over Adrian’s eyes — recognition? concern? , but it disappeared too quickly for her to read.
“I hope she feels better soon,” he said sincerely.
“Thank you,” Emily replied, touched by the softness in his tone.
They reached the fountain at the center of the square. Water shimmered under the sunlight, splashing in rhythmic arcs.
“Well,” Adrian said, shifting the small bag in his hand, “I should get going.”
Emily nodded, not wanting to look disappointed. She’d barely met him, but something about this quiet connection felt rare. Unexpected.
Adrian hesitated, then asked, “Will you be around the bookshop again? The old one near the park?”
“I usually go there often,” she said. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He smiled, small but genuine. “Then…maybe I’ll see you there.”
And then he walked away.
Emily watched him go, feeling a too-familiar flutter in her chest — but it wasn’t just attraction. It was curiosity, like she had brushed against something larger, something waiting to unfold.
When she turned to head home, she felt a shift, like today had marked the beginning of something she didn’t yet understand.
But someone else understood.
Across the market, hidden between stalls, a shadowed figure watched Adrian walk away. Their eyes narrowed, following Emily’s path too.
They took a slow breath.
“So…you’ve finally found her,” the figure whispered.
Then they disappeared into the crowd.