Chapter 2 Segment 2 of The Sentient She Shed
Lila pulled the book from the shelf.
It was heavier than she expected. The navy blue cover was soft, worn at the edges, and the gold lettering—LILA—shimmered faintly in the lamplight. She held it close for a moment, unsure if she was ready.
Then she opened it.
The first page was blank.
So was the second.
But on the third, there was a sketch.
Her sketch.
A mouse curled up in a teacup, sleeping. She’d drawn it months ago, in the corner of her math homework. She’d forgotten about it. No one had ever seen it.
She turned the page.
A poem. One she’d written in her head but never put on paper. About ivy and wind and the feeling of being almost invisible.
Another page.
A list of questions she’d asked herself late at night. “What if I disappeared?” “Would anyone notice?” “Is there a place where I fit?”
She blinked.
The book didn’t just know her.
It remembered her.
The mouse adjusted its spectacles and squeaked softly, as if to say, See? You were never lost.
Lila sat down on the rug, the book open in her lap, and let the quiet wrap around her like a blanket.
She wasn’t sure what this place was.
But she knew one thing:
It saw her.
If a book remembered you, what would it hold?
A sketch? A secret? A question you’ve never asked aloud?
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