Where am I?

Sparse rays of moonlight filtered through the dusty windows of the quaint two-story building, casting a delicate glow upon the neatly arranged shelves. Particles of dust shimmered in the natural lighting. The comforting scent of aged paper and polished wood permeated the space.

Allen stood in the center of the dimly lit room.

Who am I?

He blinked at the jarring sense of disorientation. His mind grasped at fragments of memories that slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. It was as if he had awakened from a long dream that faded with each passing second.

He shook his head and scanned the room with a wary gaze. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shelves, more shelves, and a set of wood stairs leading up.

With tentative steps, Allen wandered toward the shelves that towered over his average-sized frame. A diverse collection of books entered his vision. Short, fat, tall, and thin books of various hues lined up in a strange harmony.

Some of the novels invoked a sense of nostalgia, though he couldn't quite pinpoint the origin of these feelings. He trailed his fingers along the spines, his eyes scanning the titles that seemed both familiar and foreign.

The further he explored, he couldn't shake the growing feeling that the books held more than just words. There was a subtle energy in the air that hinted at something beyond the ordinary. Surely it wasn’t because of the conspicuous glow emanating from the books.

His eyes scanned the rows of books until they settled on one that seemed to stand out—a weathered volume with a leather cover, adorned with strange symbols and patterns.

Despite the initial confusion, a sudden spark of something kindled within him. He was…excited?

Exiting the maze of novels, Allen finally stepped onto the old staircase near the back of the store. Despite its outward appearance, the stairs were sturdy with no disturbing creaks under his weight as he made his way to the second floor.

There, he discovered a modest living space—a bedroom with an unmade bed, a small kitchenette, and a bathroom. The rooms felt oddly personal yet devoid of any clues about his identity or the nature of his presence in this peculiar place.

Finding nothing of interest, Allen returned to the ground floor. Curiosity led him to the dusty window at the front of the store. He peered outside, hoping for a glimpse of the surroundings. It was difficult to gather much through the dirty glass that needed some cleaning. The dim lighting didn’t help either.

Deciding to step out for a better look, Allen turned the handle of the door. The night outside was unusually dark. Though the moon above offered some illumination, its light only reached so far, leaving the surroundings veiled in shadows.

Straining his eyes, he spotted a singular lamp post down the deserted street. Its feeble light created a small pool of illumination, revealing an empty bench beneath it. The rest of the street remained shrouded in mystery.

Allen hesitated on the threshold of the bookstore. The silence of the night was oppressive, and the lone lamp post felt like a beacon in the obscurity. Though curiosity tugged at him to explore, he held firm to his logical reasoning. The eerie stillness made the unknown outside seem more foreboding than intriguing.

With a shake of his head, Allen decided against venturing outside for now. There will be plenty of time for adventure later, preferably in the daytime. Although he didn’t fear the dark, there was no need to take unnecessary risks.

Closing the door behind him, he returned to the strange bookstore which seemed much more comforting in contrast. He noticed an intricately carved front desk that he had somehow missed earlier. Had it always been there?

On the dark wood, a piece of paper lay beside an old-fashioned bell. There was a short passage welcoming the new store owner. His name, Allen, was written with a flourish at the bottom as if he had signed it himself. 

A shiver of confusion and unease coursed through him as he re-read the short letter, realizing that he had no recollection of how he came to own this strange bookstore.

~~~

"Welcome."

"Thank you, I'm just looking." A young man scurried into the store with his eyes down. His first visitor of the day. Soon, the mop of brown curls disappeared around the tall shelves.

"Let me know if you need anything."

Allen tapped his index finger on the wood table, his gaze distant. He closed the book in his hands, the leather-bound cover cold against his fingertips. After rereading the page for the sixth time without comprehension, he simply allowed his mind to wander as it desired without constraints.

It bounced among the puddles of passing contemplations, increasing in depth each time. It pauses in a pool of thought that runs along the edges of the rainboots, threatening to spill inside.

Transmigration. The word danced around the edges of his mind, its meaning elusive.

A sharp pain jolted Allen out of his thoughts as his train of thought crashed against an unseen barrier. What had he forgotten?

He winced from the ghostly echoes of pain that lingered, but the corner of his mouth turned upwards. There was a sparkle in his eyes. I’m on the right track.

"Excuse me, sir."

Startled, Allen's thoughts dispersed like mist before the morning sun. He looked up to find the young man standing before him, a worn paperback book in hand.

"I'm ready to check out.”

"Of course," Allen replied, shifting his focus from the mysteries swirling in his mind to the ordinary transaction before him. He took the book, its pages weathered from countless readings, and scanned it with a sense of detachment.

As he processed the sale, Allen's gaze lingered on the young man. His features were unremarkable, his attire plain, and he seemed to fade into the backdrop of the store. Yet, there was a certain charm in his ordinariness that intrigued Allen. One shouldn’t judge a book by its cover after all.

This young man was his first customer.

"So, what's your name?"

The young man shifted uncomfortably, his eyes avoiding direct contact. "Oh, uh, it's David."

"And what do you do, David?" Allen asked, his curiosity genuine, if only because he’d been deprived of human interaction for who knows how long. He certainly couldn’t remember the last occurrence.

"I work at the bakery down the street," David mumbled.

“I enjoy sweets, maybe I’ll stop by one day.” That was true. There was a pang in his stomach as visions of cake, cookies, and tiramisu intruded his mind.

The exchange continued with a few more obligatory questions, but as Allen delved into the young man's ordinary life, the luster of curiosity began to fade. David's responses were as commonplace as the mundane world Allen had left behind.

His hand paused. Had his previous life been mundane? Was he a David in his previous world? His eyes bore relentlessly into the unassuming young man before him.

“S-sir?” David shrank like a mouse under his gaze.

Impossible. He couldn’t see himself that cowardly. Just the thought itself hurt something inside of him. He removed his gaze and handed the book to David. “It’s nothing. Have a pleasant day.”

The young man mumbled a farewell and quickly left the store, the bell tinkling in his wake.

As the door closed, Allen's gaze lingered on the empty space, his mind a tempest of unanswered questions. The ordinary encounter with David had not provided the answers he sought, but it had stirred a restlessness within him.

Grrr! The grumbling of his stomach did not cease despite the departure of the young baker. He hadn’t eaten since regaining consciousness. There hadn’t been any sensations of hunger until now.

Unfortunately for him, the fridge was as bare as his pockets. Allen swung the door closed and then reopened it subconsciously. Confusion filled his mind at the habitual but illogical action. Were there magical fridges that auto-spawned substance in his old world?

Grrr-ump! His stomach impatiently reminded him of his mission, preventing his thoughts from spiraling. Luckily, there was half a loaf of bread, some sort of fruit jam, an unopened bag of coffee beans, and an empty jar in the pantry. It will do for now, but he added food to the top of his list of priorities. Lost memories wouldn’t fill his stomach even if they were found.

He set a kettle of water on the stove and turned his attention to the room. The twin-sized bed was roughly made. Allen had drifted into a deep slumber as soon as his head hit the pillows last night. The soft hum of the unfamiliar environment seemed to blend seamlessly with his exhaustion, creating a lullaby that ushered him into a surprisingly quick and restful sleep.

After finishing his unsatisfying meal, Allen returned downstairs. He swung open the door, the bell jingled as sunlight spilled into the room. The daylight painted a different picture from the darkness of the previous night. New colors and textures stood out in the natural light.

He noted the details that had eluded him in the darkness—new buildings, unfamiliar trees, and the distant sounds of a busy town. A flock of birds flew over the city, a dark outline against the blue sky. A black cat groomed itself in the alleyway close by.  

There were no people on the street despite the welcoming atmosphere and the sun straight overhead. It should be around noon. A part of Allen was worried about daily necessities if there was no steady flow of customers.

Despite his worries, the day passed quickly. The sun, which had been high in the sky, started its descent, casting long shadows across the landscape. The vibrant hues of daylight began to give way to the cooler tones of evening.

The night pressed on, and Allen found solace in the turning pages of the leather-bound book. Each word was a lifeline, a connection to a narrative that was, for the moment, more coherent than the fragmented memories of his past life.

Why did it even matter? His brows wrinkled in annoyance at the uncomfortable weight on his chest that returned as his mind wandered.

He should focus on the present. Let the past remain where it belonged. Perhaps there was a good reason he didn’t remember. Allen stretched, feeling the fatigue settling in from hours of reading. A quiet yawn escaped him as he contemplated closing the bookstore for the night.

The jingle of the bell interrupted his solitary contemplation. His eyes flicker to the door, curious what sort of guest shops for books so late in the night.