Tiger stripes formed at the bottom of the cup, tiny crushed leaves, almost dust. The tea got cold. Books scattered around,the same old books, the shelf still not on the wall.
Nothing new. Or so she thought. She took what it seemed to be the oldest one, the most shattered. Brown pages, broken spine, the one she doesn't quite remember.
Inside, a battle of words, crossed out sentences replaced with black ink. She doesn't do that to books, a bit outrageous.
"Did you lend this book to someone?" she asked, but the others were too far away to listen.
A hand-written sentence caught her attention, "You wish you never had to move there". She froze. Strange coincidence.
A few pages forward, "They know about what you said about them", "They don't want you there". Can three times be a coincidence?
She closed the book, loudly. Not the best time to play mind games. Was it a joke? Or they really knew about that?
"Oh, you found it" He said, across the room.
"Is this yours?"
"Yeah, quite an oddity"
"Do you write in your books?"
"What? No, I bought it at a flea market"
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