“Miss Moe? What a surprise!” He jumps from his seat and hurries toward me. “It’s been so long, I did not think I would ever see you again.”
His eyes drift to my bag, and his expression turns covetous.
“Don’t tell me you’ve brought me the tenth volume? Everyone has been asking for it! The last one sold out everywhere! I tried to get in touch with you at your last address, but your parents said you’d left.”
“Yeah, well…” I shift awkwardly. “It’s a long story. Unfortunately, I don’t have the tenth volume. I haven’t had time to work on it. I have something else, though.”
His eyes sparkle with curiosity.
“Come. Let’s head to the back.”
We descend a narrow wooden staircase into the basement of the bookshop. Even more books line the walls here—a reader’s paradise. I used to imagine that if I ever made enough money, I would buy myself a room just like this, shelves overflowing with books.
Well, that never materialized. Years later, I am still poor—perhaps even poorer now that my husband is just as destitute.Yet as I look upon those endless rows of books, I do not feel the same jealousy I once did. I do not feel that sharp, immediate want. Not because I love books any less, but because my satisfaction comes from somewhere entirely different now.
He leads me to his worktable. “Show me.”
I remove the notebooks from my bag and spread them across the table. Twelve of them—twelve volumes.
He picks up the first and begins flipping through it, skimming passages here and there.
“It’s about a girl who loves books so much that one day she wakes up inside her favorite novel. She thinks it’s the adventure of a lifetime, but the characters of the book are not who she expected them to be. The heroes she worshipped are frauds. The world she longed to lose herself in is the worst place imaginable. But just when she thinks she’s going to die, the villain of the story saves her—and they fall in love,” I explain breathlessly.
I am so full of excitement at finally being able to talk about my beloved story that I fail to notice his frown at first. Or the purse of his lips.
“What do you think?” I whisper.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Miss Moe. You’re a great writer. People loveThe Adventures of Hippo. It’s my best-selling series. But the trends are shifting. I don’t see a future for this.”
I gasp.
“Now, please, it’s not that your idea isn’t good. In fact, ten years ago this would have flown off the shelves. But romance isn’t that sought after anymore. Not with a villain, especially. I’m afraid the market, as it stands now, simply isn’t suitable for this.”
Something inside me dies—not because he is saying my story is not good, but because this was the last resort I had to make money.
“I—” I swallow. “I can writeThe Adventures of Hippo.How soon do you need it? If I start today, I can have the next volume in two weeks,” I say hurriedly.
“Miss Moe…”
“Please, Mr. Grigo. I really need the money.”
He strokes his chin pensively as he looks down at the manuscripts again, then releases a tired breath.
“The market right now wants adventure, but the focus is generally on multiple main characters instead of just one. I’ve read some passages. The worldbuilding is strong. I love the feel of Akkaya. It’s just that…”
“Yes?”
“Here.” He points to a passage about the Five Mages of Akkaya. “What if these were the protagonists?”
“But…” I bite my lip.
“Since this would require serious rewrites, I won’t be able to pay you as much. But I think we can make a deal for all of these.”
“Who will do the rewrites?”
“I have an intern who is excellent with current trends. He’ll know what works best—tropes and all that.”
“I see…”
