Captive{ated}

One: Beginnings

It's almost ironic that our story began in a bookstore. There is no other building that is so full of beginnings to stories. All one has to do is take a book from a shelf, open it, and a story has begun.

Unfortunately for me, our story was not one I could put down once I decided I no longer wanted to be a part of it.

I was in-between my junior and senior years in college, working a summer job as most college students do to lessen the financial blow of tuition. I was dazed, lost in my thoughts as I straightened a shelf of young adult books.

I began to read the synopsis of the newest release when I heard your smooth voice, "Excuse me, miss, but could you help me for a moment?"

I shut the book, slightly startled since I didn't hear you approach. Hiding the fact I was slacking, I put the book back in its place, plastered a smile, and answered, "Of course."

When I turned around, I saw you for the first time. You were a few inches taller than me with an embarrassed look on your face. Your short, dirty blonde hair was messy, probably from your habit of running your hand through it when you were anxious. In your hands was a brand new copy of The Scarlet Letter. "What can I help you with?" I asked, looking towards your face.

When our eyes met, I became nervous though I didn't understand why. Both our gazes darted away. You must've felt it, too. At that point in my life, I was trying to focus on working and studying, not dating. Feeling like the young, hormonal girl I was just by looking into some stranger's hazel eyes was not part of my plan. But I couldn't help it. They were stunning.

"You read books?" I noticed your accent that I couldn't place. It wasn't very prominent, but it was there.

I smiled, feeling my nerves dissipate. For some reason, you looked more nervous than I did. It gave me the confidence to keep my wit, "I work in a bookstore, don't I?"

You cringed. I remember thinking that the face you made was cute and laughable. "Right, dumb question."

"No, it's better to ask than assume. You know the saying about what happens when you assume," I smiled to save your pride.

You looked at me, your face blank. I wanted to facepalm myself for making this more awkward. "I'm sorry?"

"I guess that had the opposite effect of what I intended. It's 'when you assume, it makes an ass out of you and me'?" Your expression didn't change. Trying to salvage the situation, my cheeks burned, "You know, the spelling? A-S-S-U-M-E?"

It was as if a lightbulb turned on above you. "Ahhh, I got it now," you chuckled.

"So how can I help you?" I shook off our rocky start.

You looked at me and then at the book, your mouth agape. It was as if you forgot what you wanted for a second. When your eyes met mine again, they were clear. "My little sister's birthday is coming up, and since she loves to read, I wanted to get her a book. The problem is, I don't know which one to get her since I'm not much of a reader myself."

I waited for more, but you never offered. "And?"

"And?" you repeated.

"And you have to tell me more about her. Like her age? Likes and dislikes? Umm, genre? I can't help you find a book if I know nothing about her," I smiled at you.

"Oh yes, that makes sense," you nodded. "She's almost 14 years old. I'm not sure what she dislikes, but I know she likes the older stuff."

I rose my eyebrows impressed. "Not many young girls like the classics."

"Strange, isn't it?" You joked.

Thinking about my childhood where I was teased constantly for reading books by Jane Austen or plays by Shakespeare, I didn't find it that funny. That being said, I wasn't offended by it either because it's not exactly a normal past time for someone so young. I shrugged, "I've been called worse."