Seraphina came back two days later.
The rain had stopped, but Raine's thoughts hadn't. Ever since their first encounter, she'd been restless—reorganizing shelves that were already alphabetized, wiping surfaces that didn't need cleaning. Her body stayed in the bookstore, but her mind kept walking back to the moment Seraphina smiled and said her name.
She wasn't Celeste.
She couldn't be.
But her voice carried a strange echo of her—softer, maybe, but just as melodic. She didn't have Celeste's quiet restraint either; Seraphina moved like someone untouched by grief, curious, alive in a way Celeste rarely allowed herself to be.
When the bell rang and she stepped through the door again, Raine's breath caught the same way it had the first time.
"Hi again," Seraphina said, holding up a box. "Thought I'd return the favor for that music shelf tip. These are some old cassettes and demo tapes I found while unpacking. I figured a place like this might appreciate them."
Raine blinked. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to." Seraphina glanced around, eyes lingering on the poetry section. "I like the way this place feels. Like it's breathing."
Raine gave a tight smile. "It remembers."
There was a pause—just long enough to hang.
"I noticed the other day," Seraphina said, "there's this book on display near the window. Leaves of Grass. It had a pressed flower in it."
Raine's fingers twitched. That flower wasn't meant to be found.
"It was hers, wasn't it?" Seraphina asked softly. "Whoever she was."
Raine felt the ground shift beneath her. "What makes you say that?"
Seraphina looked away for a moment. "Because I've felt that kind of sadness before. It leaves fingerprints on everything. And… I don't know, I keep feeling like I've walked into a story that already started without me."
Raine said nothing. Her throat was suddenly too tight.
Instead, she walked to the poetry shelf, pulled out a journal, and handed it to Seraphina. "This belonged to someone who believed music and words came from the same place. Maybe you'll find something in there worth hearing."
Seraphina took it carefully, almost reverently.
And just as she turned to leave, she paused at the door. "Do you believe people can come back? Not as ghosts… but in other ways?"
Raine stared at her. The same way she once stared at Celeste when she spoke about fate like it was a melody.
"I used to," Raine said. "Now I'm not sure if I believe… or if I'm just desperate enough to want it."
Seraphina nodded like she understood, even if she didn't say she did.
Then she stepped out into the sun.
The store fell silent again, except for the faint whisper of a tune Raine couldn't quite place. One Celeste used to hum when she thought no one was listening.
And on the counter—beneath where Seraphina had set the box—was a folded piece of paper.
Raine unfolded it slowly.
One line. Ink slightly smudged.
"The melody's not over yet."
No name. No signature.
Just a feeling.
---