It was an ordinary winter day, and I was browsing through books in a quiet bookstore. Whenever I have a bit of time, I like to come here. There were only a handful of customers, one of them an elegantly dressed older woman with an open, friendly face that seemed to radiate hope.
I couldn’t help myself; I complimented her on how lovely she looked. She clasped her hands in front of her, and her face lit up. Then she said, “The world covered my husband with invisibility, and he vanished. It’s been over forty years. I come here every day in the hopes of seeing him one last time. This is where we met. Sometimes I think I can still hear his distant voice calling my name.”
We decided to sit down in the bookstore’s little café, and there she told me all about her husband.
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