A/N: Sorry to make my comeback with a filler chapter 😩 I was supposed to post this back in September smh. Please bear with the bad writing and my fangirling over Japanese literature.

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"Wait, grandpa is an editor?"

My jaw falls as I watch Tiara put the key into the lock of the library shed. July is standing right beside me, looking equally surprised.

"He used to be," Tiara replies. "An editor, I mean. Like, he started off with magazines. Editing magazines, I mean. Then he did some fiction books by small, neighborhood authors. Like the kinds that know they're not gonna sell well 'cause- 'cause well, 'cause they don't fit the wave or something. Mmm . . . grandpa used to love working for them 'cause they were always unique. The books, that is, always unique. But then one of those small authors blew up unexpectedly. Samuel Linds? You know him?"

"Ah, yeah, I do . . ."

"Woah, that's so cool!" July exclaims. "What kind of book does he write?"

"Erotica," I mouth.

That seems to make him happier. "So cool!"

Tiara continues as she puts the key to the lock. "He is somewhat famous for editing books by Japanese authors. Ah no- the translations, I meant. Editing the English translations. 'Cause he loves Japanese literature."

I let out a gasp. "Kindred spirit."

Tiara laughs and opens the white doors. What unfolds is a heavenly scenery—heavenly to me, at least—of shelves after shelves of books and books. There is a two-person round coffee table at the center of the room with two chairs on either sides. Other than that, just books. Books and nothing but books. I walk in, mesmerized, and inhale my favorite scent in the whole world—the scent of old books. That's right, grandpa is over 70 years old. He must have some really old copies from a long time ago here.

Oh my God.

Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he has the first ever edition of Sidney Sheldon's The Naked Face or all four volumes of Yukio Mishima's The Sea of Fertility. First editions! Since he likes Japanese literature, does that mean there will be Osamu Dazai and Akutagawa Ryunouske's books too? Maybe I'll even find some really old copies of my favourite classics. Oh! Maybe I'll also find the very first edition of James Baldwin's Giovanni's Room? July never got to finish that book because mom threw it away. Maybe more of James Baldwin's novels would be here. His books are so rare in this country that they're quite expensive even if I do find a copy of his lesser known works. And I don't want to read online, because that just takes away-

A finger snaps in front of my eyes, pulling me out of my daydreaming.

I blink repeatedly to adjust. Tiara stares at me, confused. "Did I rub off on you?"

"Ah no, I was just- this is amazing. This is beautiful." I stare at awe. But when I take in the whole place again, I am struck with the realization that the place is, in fact, very small. Which means all the books I've been dreaming about might not even be here. There might only be around 300 to 400 books here. This is just someone's personal library, not Waterstones Piccadilly. I don't think I'll ever have the privilege of visiting Waterstones Piccadilly and browse from over 2 million books. I'm simply not th-

"Uh, Cedar?" Tiara calls again, and I blink at her.

"Uh, yeah?" I blink at her.

"Um, I was saying that you can make yourself home here. I'm gonna go. Oh! And all the books grandpa's ever edited are in this shelf." She points to the leftmost shelf against the east wall of the room. Without waiting for me to reply, she leaves, closing the door behind her. She must've gotten annoyed by me.

July laughs  from the other side of the room, where he is moving his eyes over the shelves. "Sweetheart, why are you dreaming about books when they're right here?"

"I got a bit overwhelmed. I've always wanted to have a library of my own."

"I'm sure you'll have it one day. And the two of us can read-" His fingers stop midway from taking out a book, and for a moment, he just stares at his own hand. An uncomfortable tension diffuses in the room.

I begin to run my brain for topic changers. Finally I say, "Anyways, didn't you once tell me you want to read poetry books? Let me check the shelves here and find one for you. I know a lot of poets." I have read a few poems of Poe, Frost, and Rossetti for school, and I liked all of them. Maybe July will too.

He lets out a laugh. "I can't believe you remember that. But no, I don't want to read poetry anymore. That was just . . . that was a different me. Instead, see if there are any Murakami books here. I want to know why you love him."

I smile at his back, feeling a slight flush in my cheeks. I didn't know it could feel that good to have someone read something just because I like it. "Yeah, okay . . . I'll look for it."

It doesn't take me long to locate a bookshelf that is filled with nothing but Japanese authors. I look at it in awe and run my fingers through the titles. Akutagawa Ryunouske, Natsume Soseki, Banana Yoshimoto, Edogawa Ranpo, Yasunari Kawabata, oh! Yukio Mishima, Yuko Tsushima, Matsuo Basho—eh? Matsuo Basho? Isn't he a 17th century poet? That's so old.

I take out On Love And Barely, translated by Lucien Stryk. "Hey July, do you want to read haikus?" I turn to him and show him the book. "Basho is considered the master of haikus. Maybe you will learn something from them and make better ones for me in the future."

July raises his brows. "Is that your way of telling me my haikus are bad?"

"They're not bad. They could be better, though," I say in a critical tone, hiding a smile.

He squints at me. "I'm hurt by the comment but okay. I'll try it out later. But first, Murakami!"

"Okay."

It doesn't take me long to locate Murakami either. I feel a wave of pride wash over me seeing that grandpa also has a collection of his books. Makes me feel awfully validated. They're all kept together, so I decide which one to select for July.

My first one was Norwegian Wood, and that was enough to make me buy Sputnik Sweetheart, then Kafka On The Shore, then After Dark, then on and on. But for some reason, I don't want him to read Norwegian Wood yet. So I begin to carefully consider which book I should select for him. I decide to go with Sputnik Sweetheart. It is one of the most hauntingly beautiful books I have ever read, dreamlike and alluring. And in contrast to most Murakami books, the female characters are pretty well-written. I think July will get a good idea of Murakami's writing style and why I love it from this book.

So I take it out and try not to stare too hard at the cover as I place it in front of July, who has sat down on one of the two chairs of the circular table. He looks at the book cover, showing a naked woman lying on her stomach, then looks at me with a brow raised.

"Don't judge a book by it's cover," I say.

"Aight." He turns the book around to read the summary. He lets out a gasp afterwards. "A lesbian! A Japanese male author wrote a lesbian character?"

I frown. "Not gonna lie, July, that was kind of racist. Not all Japanese people are homophobic. In fact, many of them are highly tolerant." I definitely did not do a full-on research about Japan after getting into their literature.

"No, that's not what I meant. I meant that- like, is it a fetishized portrayal . . .? And that's got nothing to do with race. I just feel slightly worried when I hear about male authors writing lesbians, or female authors writing gays. I've been into the anime and manga world for a long time and my experiences in this sector hasn't been the best."

Well, his worry is justified. I scratch my temple. "Well, there are some questionable parts from what I remember. Skip through those pages. That's what I do."

"Hmm, so Murakami writes questionable things?"

"Oh don't even get me started." I sigh.

I'm usually so entranced by the writing that I often forget to pay attention to details like this. Which is why it came off as a huge surprise to me when I found out that people hate Murakami for his badly written female characters, for the way those characters are often seemingly used as a tool for the male protagonists. After reading a few articles proving it, I realized that it's actually not too far from the truth.

"His books are like a guilty pleasure of mine at this point," I say.

He nods slowly. "I understand, trust me. There was this anime character I loved like crazy because her character was extremely interesting to me. But people slandered me for it because she was quite the abuser in the first few seasons. And I couldn't for the love of God explain to them that it's not about the, y'know, the morals, it's more about the . . . umm."

"Everything but the morals?" I offer.

"Ugh, yes you're right." He shakes his head. "I think that's why it's good to not be too analytical. If you like it, you like it. The sentence ends there. Who has the right to tell you whether it's okay or not, hmm?"

"Hmm, I think many people will disagree."

He shrugs. "Well I'm quite the controversial person, aren't I?"

I laugh.

"Anyways, I'll start this one then." He happily opens the book, while I go back to the shelves to look some more. I'm not gonna read one yet, but just looking at books make me happy. Especially when they're kept so organized.

I decide to look into the shelf of the books grandpa has edited. I'm still surprised by the information. How can there be such a huge coincidence? First Tiara, then Aurora, and now grandpa. It's like this whole family is, in a weird twist of fate, connected to many delicate threads of my life.

As Tiara mentioned, I find a lot of Japanese authors on the top shelves. Some of them I recognize immediately, others I don't. One author especially grabs my attention due to the fact that there must be at least 30 books of his lined up here. It seems like grandpa was the exclusive editor of all his English translated books. The author's name is Nakamoto Shuichi.

I take out the book with the most attractive title—Woodlands Apart. I open it to the first page, then turn to the next one. There I find grandpa's name, Rick Astley. Ah no, Rick Taylors. I check the back cover for the summary. It's short, yet hooking, and makes me immediately want to buy it. Oh wait, I won't have to buy it. I can read it for free. Wow . . . that's crazy. It's the first time in my life I don't have to worry about money after finding a book I'm interested in. Just the thought makes me want to dance in joy.

"You're gonna read that?" July asks.

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so." I put it back into the shelf.

"But why not?" When I don't reply, he says, "You stopped reading books after Dawn's death. I've always wondered why. Will you . . . tell me why? Even though you love reading so much."

With a sigh, I walk to the table and sit down on the chair across from him. I knew this question would come up at some point. "You really want to know?" I ask.

"I want to know everything about you."

I brush my thumb against the edge of the table. "It's because . . . most books have too much death in them. I suppose that's why. I suppose I'm afraid of relating to the character's grief when someone they love passes away. The memory of that emotion . . . I want to erase it for as long as I can. If I don't, I think I'll go crazy. I know there will come a point in my life when the news of someone I love dying is not going to be too surprising anymore. But until that time comes, I want to retain my sanity. I want to pretend that grief as an emotion doesn't exist. And if I read books and watch movies about death or with death, I'll be reminded of it again and again. Then I'll also get crushed again and again."

July slowly nods, and closes Sputnik Sweetheart. "I think I understand where you're coming from."

I smile. "It's very silly, isn't it? Just like the forehead thing."

"It's not silly. As I said, I understand." He leans against his chair. "I wouldn't say I experienced something similar but . . . I can see why you would feel like that."

"Hmm."

"So you never plan to pick up a book again?" he asks me the question I least wanted to hear.

"That's not it . . . I think I just need time." The excuse almost makes me laugh. It's been nine months. How much more time can I need?

"Some time . . ."

I think we are both aware of the unsaid question hovering in the air between us. If I don't read books, how can I ever plan to study Literature? That's like wanting to fly a plane while having a fear of heights. I think July is simply not asking the question because he doesn't want to pressure me. I'm grateful to him for that, but maybe if he pushes me to think more, I will try harder.

"Okay, how about this?" He claps once. "Maybe we can read a book together."

"Together? Buddy reading?"

"Yes!"

"Why do you think that will work?"

"Hmm . . . not sure how to explain this but let me try. You see, when Dawn passed away, you had to battle the grief all by yourself, didn't you? That must've been really hard for you. Grief by itself is difficult to deal with, but without any company, it becomes nothing less than hellfire on earth. Maybe that's why you're afraid of it."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"If that is the reason, I think that, if we read a book together, then you won't have to deal with the grief alone. You'll have me to lean on to. And that might reduce your fear of it to an extent. It will be like a proof to yourself that from now on you won't have to be alone when going through a hard time. Which is true! You're not as alone as you used to be, Cedar."

I'm not as alone as I used to be. With much surprise, I realize he is right.

I'm not really sure whether it will work out, and I'm not really sure if I'm ready. But seeing him thinking so far ahead for me, I can't help but feel the determination to try hard immediately. So I nod and tell him, "Okay then, we'll try reading a book together."

"Yay!" He claps. "Then let's start with that book you picked out earlier?"

"Sure." I smile, once again being hit with the realization that July is perhaps the greatest gift life has ever given me.

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hello :))

did y'all miss me 😢 hope this chapter wasn't too boring, thought it was mostly me unleashing my inner bookworm. it built a lot of foundation for the next chapters. oh to have a little garden shed library filled with japanese literature.

those who have read December Drizzle probably recognize Nakamoto Shuichi. July had mentioned there that he read Woodlands Apart with his lover aka Cedar, and Cedar had mentioned how he wrote a thesis on the book on his second year of university. so yeah, glad i could connect them here! although in this universe, July and Cedar won't ever meet Shuichi :(