The Last Shop Before Tomorrow

It had been raining for three days, but not properly. Just a misting drizzle that clung to your hair and softened the edges of the town like someone had drawn it in pencil and rubbed their thumb across the lines.

Cassie took the long way home from the library. Not because she liked walking, but because she wasn’t ready to go back. The house would be quiet, filled with the sound of her father’s breathing machine and the television he left on to feel less alone. He used to whistle when she walked through the door. Now it was mostly coughing. Harsh. Wet. A sound she didn’t know how to un-hear.

She had the letter in her pocket. Folded in half, then in half again. A scholarship to an arts school in the city. Everything she’d wanted. Everything she’d worked for.

Except now, she wasn’t sure if she could take it.

She was halfway down Rosehill Street when she noticed the shop.

It wasn’t there yesterday.

Cassie blinked. Between the crumbling post office and a fenced-off construction site was a narrow little building she’d never seen before. The windows were dusty and yellowed, but behind the glass, she could just make out shelves packed with strange objects—typewriters, hourglasses, dreamcatchers, pocket watches that ticked unevenly.

A crooked sign hung above the door:

Tomorrow’s Goods.

She stood there for a moment, unsure if she was dreaming or just tired. Then, without fully deciding to, she stepped inside.

A little brass bell chimed overhead.

The air inside was warm, still, and scented with something like old pages and orange peel. A fan turned slowly in the ceiling, clicking once every full rotation. The shop was narrow, deeper than it looked from the outside, and packed floor to ceiling with… things. Not quite antiques, not quite junk. Just things.

Labels hung from each shelf. Not prices. But years. 1984. 2007. 2026. Some had words beneath them: Hope. Grief. First Kiss. Goodbye.

From behind a faded curtain made of beads, a woman emerged. She wore a long navy dress and a necklace with a single key at the center. Her hair was silver, braided over one shoulder.

She smiled at Cassie like she had been waiting for her.

“You’ve come,” she said gently.

“I didn’t mean to,” Cassie replied.

“No one ever does.” The woman’s voice was soft but certain. “You may choose one item. Nothing more.”

“I’m not buying anything,” Cassie said, even though she hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I was just… looking.”

The woman didn’t reply. She only stepped back, as if giving Cassie space to wander.

So she did.

Cassie drifted between the shelves, brushing her fingers along old wooden boxes and tarnished spoons, faded postcards that shimmered faintly under her touch. A small globe spun slowly on its own. A mirror showed not her reflection, but a version of her—older, maybe, or braver, or just less afraid.

There was something in the quiet of the place that made her want to cry. Not in a sad way. Just in a way that felt like an exhale. Like some part of her had been holding its breath for too long.

She passed a row of drawers, each labeled with single words: Decision. Forgiveness. Memory. Each time she reached for one, something inside her paused. As if it wasn’t time yet.

At the very back of the shop, near a low window dusted with raindrops, was a wooden tray holding a cracked compass. It looked useless—the needle frozen in place, the glass chipped at the edge. But there was something about it that felt familiar, like something she’d once lost but couldn’t name.

Its label read:

Courage – October 12

She picked it up.

“Why this one?” the shopkeeper asked, suddenly beside her.

Cassie didn’t know she’d been watching.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It feels… quiet. Like it doesn’t need anything from me.”

The woman nodded. “Then it’s yours.”

Cassie hesitated. “How much?”

“No charge. But it cannot be returned. Once taken, it becomes part of your story.”

Cassie looked down at the compass again. The needle didn’t move, but something in her chest did. Like a string had been tugged.

She nodded.

The woman held her gaze. “Then tomorrow is already changing.”

⸻

When Cassie stepped back outside, the sky had cleared a little. Just a slit in the clouds, letting in a thread of light. She turned to look at the shop again.

It was gone.

Just brick wall now. A construction fence. An empty space where something had once been.

She reached into her coat pocket.

The compass was still there.

⸻

The days that followed were slow and strange. She helped her father with his medication, cooked pasta that he barely touched, listened to him fall asleep to the hum of the footy on TV. She tried to write a reply to the scholarship offer. Every time she sat down, the words dissolved.

The compass sat on her nightstand, unmoving. But she found herself reaching for it in the morning, running her thumb along the crack in the glass. It didn’t tell her where to go. But somehow, it helped her remember what it felt like to stand still and not panic.

October 12 came too quickly.

Cassie stood in the kitchen, suitcase by the door. The morning sun came in through the blinds, striping the floor in soft gold. Her dad was asleep in the armchair, mouth slightly open, a book on his chest.

She didn’t wake him. Just stood there for a long moment, looking at the house she’d always known.

The fridge hum. The smell of coffee soaked into the curtains. The shadows of old photo frames on the wall.

She pulled the compass from her pocket. It didn’t spin. It didn’t point. But for the first time, that didn’t matter.

She placed it gently on the kitchen bench beside his morning mug. She slipped a note beneath it:

“I’ll be back. But I have to go first.”

Then she stepped outside into the day.

⸻

Cassie took the early train into the city. She sat by the window, watching the blur of trees and rooftops slide past like chapters she wasn’t finished reading. Her stomach twisted and unknotted in turns. But beneath it all, there was something steady.

Something like courage.

At the first stop, an older woman stepped into the carriage and sat across from her. She wore a navy coat and a necklace with a key at the center. She didn’t say anything.

Just smiled.

And Cassie smiled back.