The First Encounter
For some reason, the sight of her reading caught his attention—perhaps because, for someone who enjoyed active hobbies like boxing and racing, the scene felt oddly still—and for a moment, he quietly watched her.
He found something graceful in the way she read: the angle of her wrist holding the book, the unhurried motion of her fingers turning the pages with a relaxed air, as if nothing needed rushing, even the subtle movements of her head as her eyes followed the lines. There was a kind of natural, effortless grace in her reading—one that could stir a begrudging envy in those who had never known ease.
When she stood up, he naturally turned his gaze away, then glanced at her book as she walked past him. He almost burst out laughing, barely managing to hold it in. In her hand was, in fact, a weird fiction novel with a garish cover—so lurid and bizarre that it looked like the sort of book only the most devoted genre enthusiasts would appreciate.
— The Soul of Rage
