Chapter 5 – Things Left Behind
I stood at the doorway and didn't move.
The room in front of me was quiet and wide. A soft golden light filled the space. Tiny bits of dust floated through the air like snow. It looked peaceful, almost like time had stopped.
I took a small step inside.
Everything felt… familiar. Like I had been here before.
Then I looked around.
And I froze.
The room was full of my things.Old things. Lost things. Forgotten things.
A red sketchbook from school. I had drawn little hearts in the corners.My favorite pen—the one with the cracked lid I used during exams.A seashell necklace I thought I lost years ago at the beach.
I walked slowly, afraid the moment might break if I moved too fast.
It felt like this room had been waiting for me.
Waiting for me to remember.
Then I saw a letter on a small wooden table.
It was closed with a seal.I picked it up. My hands started to shake.
The paper was soft and a little yellow now.
I remembered it.
I wrote this letter to my dad after he left. I never sent it. I didn't even think I still had it.
I opened the letter with slow fingers.
My old handwriting stared back at me. Messy. Pressed hard into the paper.
"You left, but I still look for you.I try not to feel angry, but I do.I miss you, even though I don't want to.I just want to know why."
Tears came to my eyes.
I forgot how much it hurt.
I folded the letter carefully and placed it back on the table.
My chest felt heavy. Like something had been sleeping there for years, and now it had woken up.
I walked farther into the room.
There were more memories here.
A small music box. The ballerina inside had one arm missing.My first library card, still slightly bent.A photo of me and Mia—my best friend in school. We stopped talking after one silly fight. I never said sorry.
Why was everything here?
I turned around, expecting Leo to be standing behind me.
But he wasn't.
The door I walked through… was gone.
Just a blank wall now.
I took a few steps back, confused.
"Leo?" I called out.
No answer.
I knocked on the wall. I pressed my hands against it. I shouted again.
Nothing.
My heart started to race.
But deep down, I knew—this wasn't to trap me.
This was something I needed.
Something I had to face on my own.
I sat down on the floor. Next to me was a grey sweater.
I picked it up.
It was mine. I had donated it in college when I moved to a new city.
I pressed it to my face.
It still smelled like cinnamon and lavender—just like home.
And I cried.
I cried for my dad.I cried for Mia.I cried for the girl I used to be.
This room remembered everything I forgot.
And it didn't blame me. It just let me feel it all.
I don't know how long I sat there.
Time felt slow, quiet.
After a while, the light in the room became dim. Not dark. Just softer. Like the room was gently saying, "It's time now."
I stood up and wiped my tears.
Then I saw it.
The key.
It was lying near the bookshelf.
It looked the same as before—small, gold, a little warm.
I picked it up.
The wall in front of me began to shimmer, like fog was moving away from glass.
I took one step forward—
And suddenly, I was back in the bookstore.
Leo was there.
Leaning on the counter, eyes closed. Breathing slowly.
When he opened his eyes, he looked right at me.
Like he already knew everything.
"You remembered," he said quietly.
I nodded.
"What is this place?" I asked.
Leo looked down at the counter, then back at me.
"It's not just a bookstore," he said. "It keeps the pieces we try to forget."
I held up the key. "And this?"
"That's yours now," he said.
We stood there in silence.
But it wasn't empty.
It was full—of something warm and real.
"Why do you stay here?" I asked.
Leo didn't speak at first.
He traced a shape on the counter with his finger, thinking.
"Because I'm waiting," he said softly.
"For what?" I asked.
He looked at me then. His eyes were calm but deep.
"For someone who opens the door and doesn't run away."
I stared at him.
And I understood.
He had seen his room too.
Long before I came here.
He had stayed.
To help others.
"Did it hurt?" I whispered.
"Yes," he said. "But it also helped me heal."
I didn't know what to say.
So I walked closer and placed my hand over his.
His hand didn't move.
But it was warm under mine.
He looked at me.
And he smiled.
That same secret smile I saw the first day.
And I knew…
I wasn't just another person who walked into the shop.
And maybe—just maybe—
He wasn't just the boy behind the counter anymore.