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MidReal Story
The Bookstore Encounter
Scenario:Emma is 22 years old. She lives in the city alone. Two years ago she came from the countryside for a job with a dream of becoming a writer. She works in the bookstore for a parttime. She loves books. So she likes her job. There are many regular customers. One of them is Harris who is late 20s. He loves reading.
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Emma Thompson
passionate, and introverted. Emma moved from the countryside two years ago to pursue her dream of becoming a writer. She works parttime at the bookstore, where she meets Harris, a regular customer who shares her love for books. Despite her struggles with loneliness and selfdoubt, Emma finds solace in her work and interactions with Harris.
Harris Mitchell
thoughtful, and reserved. Harris often visits the store late in the evening, displaying his love for reading. His interactions with Emma are brief but friendly, as he occasionally recommends books to her. His presence becomes a highlight of Emma's day, offering her comfort and companionship in an otherwise lonely city life.
Sarah Jennings
caring, and humorous. Sarah remains close to Emma despite their physical distance and provides emotional support through regular phone calls and messages. Her conversations with Emma often involve sharing about their daily lives and offering encouragement when needed.
My name is Emma.
I'm 22 years old.
I live in the city alone.
I came here two years ago from the countryside.
I had a dream to become a writer.
I work parttime in a bookstore.
This job is suitable for me.
I like books very much.
There are many regular customers in our store.
One of them is Harris.
He comes almost every day, but mostly in late evening.
He's also late 20s and likes reading very much.
Every time he comes, we talk a little.
Then he asks me to recommend some books.
Once he gives me a book as a gift.
It was written by his friend.
I don't know if he's single or not.
But I feel happy when he comes.
He makes my day more interesting.
Otherwise, I have nobody in the city.
I'm a little lonely.
But I don't want to go back to the countryside.
I want to keep my dream.
Sometimes I call Sarah, my best friend living in the countryside.
She asks about my life, if I'm okay or not.
I tell her I'm fine and I have nobody to worry about me.
After the call, I feel a little sad.
One evening, when Harris enters the store, I get an idea.
I take a deep breath and muster up the courage to ask him about the author of the book he gifted me.
He stops at a shelf, scanning through the titles, and turns to me.
"Actually, I'm curious about the author of the book you gave me. Who is he?"
Harris looks thoughtful for a moment before answering.
"He's an old friend from university."
I wait for more information, but he doesn't seem willing to share any further details.
I press on, curiosity getting the better of me.
"Is he a famous author?"
Harris chuckles and shakes his head.
"No, not yet. He writes under a pseudonym."
My eyes widen with surprise.
"Really? Why?"
Harris leans against the shelf, a faraway look in his eyes.
"We were in university together. We had a group of friends who shared similar interests. We would often stay up late into the night, discussing books and life. He was always fascinated by literature and writing. After graduating, he decided to pursue his dream and started writing seriously. But he wanted to keep his real name separate from his pen name, so he chose a pseudonym."
I'm intrigued by this glimpse into Harris's past and the story of his friend-turned-author.
"Tell me more," I say, eager to hear more about this enigmatic figure.
Harris smiles wistfully.
"Well, there were five of us in our group. We all had different majors, but we shared a love for literature and philosophy. We would spend hours debating various topics and sharing our favorite books with each other." "What were some of your favorite books?" "Oh, there were so many," Harris replies thoughtfully.
"We were all voracious readers. I remember staying up late one night discussing The Great Gatsby with my friends. One of them had just finished reading it and was telling us about it. It was like we were all transported to another world."
I can almost see the scene playing out in front of me—the group of friends gathered around a table or sprawled on the floor, their faces illuminated by lamplight as they delve into the world of F. Scott Fitzgerald's creation.
"It sounds amazing," I say softly.
Harris nods, a faraway look still in his eyes.
"It was. Those were some of the best times of my life."
As we continue talking, I notice something different about Harris tonight.
The evening sun casts long shadows across the bookstore, and Harris lingers by the counter, his eyes scanning the shelves with a familiar ease.
I decide to take a chance and ask him about his reading preferences.
"Have you read any good books lately?" he asks, turning to me with a smile.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I should recommend something new.
But then I remember a book that had caught my attention earlier in the day.
"There's a new novel that just arrived in our store," I say, reaching for the book.
"It's called The Night Circus."
Harris raises an eyebrow, intrigued.
"Tell me more."
I launch into a brief summary of the plot, describing the magical circus that appears at night and the competition between two young illusionists who are bound together by a shared destiny.
Harris listens intently, his eyes lighting up as I speak. "It sounds fascinating," he says when I finish.
"I'll have to check it out."
We continue talking about books for a while longer, each recommendation building upon the last.
As we discuss our shared love of literature, I feel a connection forming between us—a sense of understanding that goes beyond mere conversation.
Finally, Harris glances at his watch and stands up to leave.
"It was great talking with you," he says, smiling at me.
"Maybe next time we can exchange book lists."
I'm taken aback by the suggestion, but also excited at the prospect of sharing more of my favorite books with him.
"That sounds like a great idea," I say, scribbling down some titles on a scrap of paper.
Harris reaches out to take it from me, our fingers brushing briefly as he does so.
"Thanks, Emma," he says, folding the paper and slipping it into his pocket.
I watch him for a moment, then ask, "Do you ever miss those university days?"
Harris pauses at the door, a wistful smile playing on his lips. "Every day," he admits softly, before stepping out into the evening air.
As the evening wears on, I find myself glancing at the clock more and more frequently.
It's almost closing time, but I'm not quite ready to leave yet.
I linger near the counter, my eyes drifting towards the door every so often.
And then, just as I'm starting to think that maybe he isn't coming tonight, I see him.
Harris walks through the door, his usual calm demeanor accompanied by a subtle eagerness in his eyes.
He smiles at me as he approaches the counter, and I can't help but smile back.
"Hi," he says, reaching into his jacket pocket.
"I brought my list of book recommendations."
I nod eagerly, reaching out for the piece of paper he hands me.
As I unfold it, I see that it's a neatly typed list of titles and authors, each one carefully selected and annotated.
"Wow," I say, impressed by the thoroughness of his recommendations.
"These look great."
Harris smiles, his eyes shining with enthusiasm.
"I think you'll really enjoy them."
We talk for a few more minutes about our shared love of literature and our favorite books.
As we discuss, I notice that Harris seems different tonight—more relaxed and at ease than usual. As we near the end of our conversation, I realize that it's getting late and I should probably lock up the store soon.
But before I can say anything, Harris speaks up.
"Emma," he says softly, his voice filled with a gentle sincerity.
"I really appreciate our talks. You have a way of understanding me that not many people do."
I smile at him, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at his words.
"I feel the same way about you," I reply honestly.
"It's nice to have someone to share my love of books with."
Harris nods thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Maybe we could meet sometime outside of the store," he suggests gently.
"To talk more about books or just life in general."
My heart skips a beat at his proposal, and for a moment I'm unsure of how to respond.
But then I take a deep breath and nod my head in agreement.
"That sounds like a great idea," I say softly, smiling up at him.
Harris smiles back at me, his face lighting up with happiness. "I'll call you soon," he says, turning to leave.
I watch him go, feeling a sense of anticipation build within me.
My mind buzzes with thoughts of Harris and our book discussions, but I push them aside for now.
I take a seat at the counter, flipping through the list he gave me.
A few minutes later, I hear the door open and look up to see Harris walking back in.
He smiles at me, his usual smile seeming a bit brighter tonight.
"Hi," he says, approaching the counter.
"I just wanted to add one more book to the list."
I nod, reaching out for the piece of paper he hands me.
As I take it, our fingers brush briefly, sending a small jolt of electricity through me.
But I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the book title he's written down.
"It's one of my favorites," Harris explains, his voice filled with enthusiasm.
"It's a beautifully written story about love and loss."
I nod thoughtfully, looking up at him.
"Thank you for the recommendation," I say softly.
Harris smiles, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than usual.
"You're welcome," he replies, turning to leave once again.
This time, however, he pauses at the door and looks back at me.
"I really appreciate your taste in literature," he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity.
"It's nice to have someone who understands me."
I smile back at him, feeling a warmth spread through my chest at his words.
"Thank you," I reply honestly. Harris nods, his eyes never leaving mine.
"I'll call you soon," he says gently, before turning and walking out into the evening air.
I watch him go, feeling a sense of anticipation build within me.
Our conversation had been brief tonight, but it had left a lasting impression on me.
