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Thomas has it all: nobility, money, the girl, and a position waiting for him at the family business. But when he thinks about the life ahead of him, he can't breathe. So he takes a gap year backpacking.
Nadia...
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Thomas' feet pounded on the cobbled street, ripped awnings and chalkboard signs whipping past him through the frigid air. This wasn't a typical storm — more like a glacial typhoon. A glow from beyond crown-glass panes caught his attention. He skidded to a halt and darted towards it, shoving open the black door and scurrying inside to the sound of a brass bell.
Across the room, a flurry of pamphlets whirled into the air. The door banged shut, and they dropped to the ground, scattering like autumn leaves. Relieved to be out of the weather, Thomas didn't pay them any mind. The shop was warm and dry.
He wiped the water from his eyes and squinted in the dim light, taking in a poky room lined with rows of old-leather spines in burgundy, green and brown. The books sat in dark-wood shelves which highlighted the building's asymmetrical dimensions. A bookstore, he realised — and an old one.
Thank goodness, he thought, relieved it wasn't a private residence — that would have been the icing on the cake. Then he saw an old man kneeling on the floor, fumbling with a heap of papers.
He hurried over, stopping himself a moment before he clashed heads with the man.
"Er, ahem."
The old man tilted his head up, blinking large, shell-like lids. A drop of water fell from Thomas' hair and plopped onto the tip of his nose. Oh,hell!
"Pardon me. I beg your ..." As Thomas spoke, the gleaming black eyes narrowed further. "Er ... please let me assist you." With drenched hands, he grasped at the pamphlets, leaving splotches and smudged ink.
An age-spotted hand darted out and slapped the back of his own.
"Ouch!" Thomas' sodden bundle fell to the floor.
"If you want to help me, you can dry off — before you ruin anything else!"
Thomas recoiled. Unsure how to react to such rudeness, he just stared.
The old man was small and thin, with a stooped back. Olive skin set off the tufts of his wispy white hair, which stood on end as if a balloon had been rubbed over it. Thick lips smacked together a couple of times, and keen eyes gazed at him.
Eventually, the old man spoke. "Don't just stand there like a fool. You're not one, are you? No, you're too well dressed to be that. But you can't judge a book by its cover. I should know. He-he-he — urgh."
While the old man coughed into his elbow, Thomas considered the khaki tweed of his overcoat. Smartand practical. Henodded his head in satisfaction.
Thomas flinched. The words were slow and loud, spoken like he was an idiot. Bewildered, he found himself following the instructions, as if compelled. This is belittling. Such incivility was unnecessary.
