Chapter Text
Trin sat at his desk in the back of the bookshop, watching the stream of rain pouring down outside. It had been a quiet morning without the rain to begin with, and now the downpour meant probably no customers were going to brave a walk outside to get to him. Unless a poor soul was caught in the rain with nowhere to escape to, but his bookshop.
Trin could always see the type, the ones who were just there as an escape, from the rain, from the heat, or as a waiting room while their friends were finding them. His was the only bookshop on this street and pretty easy to find for a rendezvous.
They would come in and make their way to the nearest shelf, the more rookie ones would look a bit timid and unsure, the seasoned veterans wore a focused expression of knowing what the deal was. Here the differences ended.
They would start pretending to check out the books, pick one up, study it with a serious frown for a good few minutes, and then return it to its place. Like the book was asking them for a solution to a mathematical formula they weren't sure of. Pick the next one up, and do the exact same thing. Till the time came. The friend showed up, or the rain stopped.
It amused Trin a great deal when some of them actually checked and realised what the price tags for most of those old books were. Even though nothing he had on display on the shop floor was that rare or that expensive, those were in the shelves behind him and only he had access to them, it still was a steep price compared to what you’d find in any normal run of the mill bookshop.
They would quickly put the book down like it had personally offended them.
But Trin didn't mind. He never thought for a second that he was going to make a sale to the young students who strolled in with their backpacks slung on one shoulder. And people watching was one of the reasons he kept the shop.
In this modern day and age, most of the customers for his antique books were from his website. He had a pretty decent one which he got made a couple of years ago and it’s been going strong and steady. In reality, Trin probably didn’t need to keep the shop open. He could just run it from his home office and keep the books stocked somewhere. But he loved being surrounded by books all day. Sitting in his corner, with his window view of the street, chatting to a neighbor or two, and seeing some of his regular customers, usually older, mostly men, and always up for a long chat about anything history shaped.
Trin loved history. So much so that he went and got a phd on the subject. He had a lot of opinions on it and could talk about it for days. He could be doing a lot more with that degree too, as his parents kept telling him. But his second love was books. He had spent most of his summers growing up in his uncle’s shop, helping him with the shelves and the books and the stocks. And occasionally getting lost somewhere among the boxes with a book. Okay maybe more than occasionally…
So a few years ago when his uncle said he was going to retire and would likely close down the bookshop because none of his children were interested in running it, Trin made a snap decision and said he would run it.
His parents tried to talk some sense into him, but had to give up when faced with his stubbornness. He still had a year left on his studies then but he made it work. He hired some help for that year and kept the bookshop open while he finished his degree.
These days, he did lectures here and there as a guest lecturer and enjoyed those too. He thrived in arguing about all the nuances of the past and how it affected our present and was going to affect our future, because the people who don’t learn from their past are destined to relive it in their future.
Every now and then, he would get a good set of students brave enough to lock horns with him on it, to argue till the cows came home and refuse to budge till finally something clicked for them and the light dawned on their minds. And wasn’t that the best feeling for a teacher!
Trin got up and made his way to his small office in the back of the shop. Where he had his laptop but most importantly, his kettle and coffee machine. He made himself a cup of tea and brought it back to the desk shaped till.
He picked up the book he had been reading and taking small notes from, half self indulgence, half preparation for his lecture next week.
In the backdrop pitter patter of the rain outside and the small hum of the air conditioner inside, he heard a loud crack of thunder. The lightning must’ve hit further away since Trin hadn’t noticed it. He looked up in time to see another one brighten the skies and a louder rumble of thunder followed it.
Trin left a bookmark in the book and went back to watching the rain with a nostalgic smile on his face. It felt like one of the older days of his childhood when he would sit on the terrace of their farm cottage, watching the light and the patterns it made in the distance. It was like he was five again, hugging his knees, sitting under the cover of the roof, eyes glued to the clouds and the crisscross patterns flying through them, letting his imagination run wild on what the shapes looked like and what they meant. Were Mekkhala and Ramasura busy dancing somewhere on the horizon? Was it a big gathering of all the gods? Were they writing destinies and celebrating their clever stories?
It wasn’t a rare phenomenon, a thunderstorm, nor did he have the same unobstructed view now as he had done back then, but there was something about this one, something that felt old and leaden with memories. Were the gods at it again?
Watching through the window as he let the melancholy take him, there was a lull in the rain and the air felt heavy with the promise of more to follow. It was as if all this light and sound show had been the small warm up act to the bigger more elaborate performance that was going to start soon. Gathering the audience, making sure everyone was seated in the place, ready and hooked. Trin also straightened in his chair in anticipation.
A strange stillness fell, a hush so intense, that he didn’t even hear the rain anymore. Had it stopped?
And then, ever so slowly, taking its time, slipping through the gaps of silence, a current of electricity slid and expanded through space. Trin felt the hair on the back of his neck rise and his nerves kicked around inside him. He started leaving his chair in what could only be his body reacting to the sense of an unexpected danger that had by now filled the air so thoroughly, he was breathing it in and out, his lungs tingling with the sensation of it.
He didn’t make it far.
He had barely stood up, his knees still half bent and his back over the chair, when lightning struck the bookshop with a blinding light and a loud explosion. Trin fell back on the chair at the impact and his arms flew to his face in an attempt to..what exactly? Save his head while the rest of him was going to vanish into a burned pile of ash in a second?
Silence filled his brain. ‘Is this how I go..?’ So much still left to do. His book wasn’t done yet. Was it? At least it was going to be quick.
Another voice in his head interrupted his self pity party and pointed out to him that if lightning had actually struck him, he would not be capable of any thoughts now!
Trin dropped his arms and blinked. He was indeed still there, sitting in his chair. There was an insistent buzzing noise, ringing in his ear. He touched his legs, then touched the desk in front of him. The bookshop was definitely still there too, or he thought it was.
He shook his head. Why is this buzzing not stopping.. and what was this strange white light flooding the whole space? Or was it his eyes? He blinked rapidly. No, no. It was everywhere. He could barely keep his eyes open in the glare of it.
And suddenly, as abrupt as it had started, the buzz of electricity stopped, the ringing in his ear faded to silence and the light vanished. Trin opened his eyes again and stood looking around. The rain outside the window was still falling. The bookshop was still all there. The rows of shelves, and the books all on them, as they had been.
And right in the middle of it, directly in front of Trin, there now stood another person. A lone tall figure of what appeared to be a man, clad in black, with his back to Trin. Long dark hair down his back and dark clothes that looked strange and out of place.
As Trin blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, that this wasn’t an illusion caused by whatever strange form of lighting had almost most certainly hit him and the shop and still hadn't burned them into nothingness, the figure swiveled around.
And it was a man, ruffled and feral. His long hair was still frizzled with the last traces of the electricity, full eyebrows furrowed in confusion, onyx eyes flicking around in panic, taking his surroundings, and skin so pale Trin thought the white light was still hovering there, refusing to let him go.
Trin’s breath caught “who–”
His head snapped to Trin at the sound of his voice and his dark eyes locked on him, a look of fear, horror, confusion, shock and pain contorting his perfect features.
“Ramesuan….” he croaked. His voice then broke, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed onto the floor with a thud.
Trin's chair crashed to the floor as he pushed it away and dashed to him.