Under the Bright City Lights.

Somewhere far away in New York City, among skyscrapers that went all the way up to the heavens and brushed against it with their tips, there existed a small bookstore. It was a faraway place, out of sight from the world, and near bookworms and lost souls. Used books and the smell of hot coffee filled it, a cozy scent that froze time itself in mid-air.

Lily was a young woman who adored this shop. She had recently relocated to the city, a month ago, with hopes to become a writer, but as each day went by, she was bombarded by words spilling out of the small bookshop. She commuted her 9-to-5 in a publishing company, but her thoughts never ever wandered very far from the small bookshop, where tales beckoned to be discovered.

It had poured the previous night, and she'd just snuggled into her corner and had a cup of tea and had one cup and then suddenly, out of nowhere, this tallish fellow just pops up, shaking rain off under his brolly. He'd had smile with smiley face and not-too-thin-cut look, an aura that branded him as being not only finicky sort of chap who had everything just so but lovable despite.

His name was Jack.

"May I take your seat?" Jack asked, his voice warm and friendly.

Lily grinned at the book in her hand in surprise at the offer but with a grin. "Not at all. It's a free country."

Jack smiled and sat beside her on the chair, rummaging in his bag for a book. He wasn't chatty in any sense, nor gaudy, but his eyes asked questions. The two of them shared two side-glances, each of which doesn't add up to anything said. And there was something between them. unspoken.

Weeks went by, and Jack continued visiting. He'd come in his arm with a book, and Lily liked the peaceful reunions. There was something exclusive about love for books that made it a peaceful space like magic was about to occur. They never spoke unless they must but were comfortable with each other.

One chilly evening, as the first snow of the season began to fall outside, Jack leaned over the table, his eyes searching Lily’s.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, his voice soft yet earnest. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at home than when I’m here, with you. In this little bookstore, surrounded by stories.”

Lily’s heart skipped a beat, her fingers trembling as she placed her book down.

And what do you mean?" she stammered, getting her words jumbled.

Jack smiled and edged closer. "I think the best stories aren't between the lines of a book. Between the people we meet. What we do. And I think… I think we can write our own.".

Lily looked up at him, and all was so honey. She had dreamed of such romance in books that she read but never imagined that it would daydream itself so realistically. She smiled, snow puffed inward from outside, and flakes twirled around within it, shining like wee stars in darkness.

"Me too," she smiled warmly.

And then. loved not on the book page but in human moments between coffee cups, in stolen moments and outside. of laughter echoing among bookstore shelves. Afternoons spent inside the city, hand in hand walking through Central Park, and. heard the other's voice under starry nights. Wow, this is breathtaking.

Lily's lexicon also shifted. She no longer wrote to her but to them, planting their love where she planted the words she wove with fences. Her muse was Jack, whom she became wild for. With Jack, she constructed life like in a blockbuster book—whose smile and laugh had its pages glued.

It was within the cosmopolitan setting of New York City that Jack and Lily understood that love, as in the movies, is something you need to believe in so that if ever you are given a sip of it. And just as it had done to them, so did theirs—and their love, their love, one that they were sure would have no end.