Nг¤chstes Kapitel Instant

"The thing about books," she said, leaning against the counter, "is that the spine only holds so many pages. If you keep reading the same one, you’re not a reader anymore. You’re just a statue." She walked away before he could respond.

He didn't write a poem. He didn't draft a plan. Instead, he took his pen and wrote two words at the very top, in letters so bold they felt like a heartbeat: Nächstes Kapitel

Elias looked down. "I think I’m just afraid of what comes after the 'Fine'." "The thing about books," she said, leaning against

He felt the eyes of the waitress, a young woman with silver earrings, as she wiped down the counter. She had seen him here every Tuesday, staring at the same page. He didn't write a poem

The clock on the wall of the "Café am Rande" didn’t tick; it hummed, a low vibration that Elias felt in his teeth. On the scarred wooden table sat a leather-bound notebook, its edges frayed and darkened by the oils of his palms.