azz35

[azz35]

SECONHAND HEARTS

There were three rules posted above the register at Book Ends:

1. No food or drink near the rare books.

2. Please don’t shelve your own returns.

3. The Romance Section Is Cursed. Enter at your own risk.

Rule three had been a joke. Mostly.

Paige scrawled it on a chalkboard one slow Tuesday afternoon after her friend Nika returned The Hating Game and mumbled something about “unrealistic expectations” and “getting ghosted mid-date.” She’d laughed, made a sign, and forgot about it.

Until people started coming back.

Azzi was the fifth.

“I swear to God, your books are cursed,” she said the first time, setting a battered copy of Red, White & Royal Blue on the counter like it had personally offended her.

Paige glanced up from the sticker gun. “Another casualty?”

Azzi leaned on the counter and sighed, lips pursed in mock tragedy. “We made it halfway through dinner before he started telling me how his ex ‘used to do that better.’ Whatever that was.”

“Goals.”

Azzi scoff

Paige smile

“I’m choosing to blame the books”. Pause. “And you.”

Paige grin. “Want store credit or a refund?”

“Credit.”

And so it started. Every few weeks, Azzi would appear with a new book and a new story.

There was the guy who called her “intimidating” for ordering whiskey neat.

The one who claimed not to believe in astrology but spent the entire date asking if she’d cheat on him because she was a Scorpio.

The one who probably was gay. Paige had snort at that one.

Each time, she returned the book with a grin and a dramatic tale. Each time, Paige gave her credit. And maybe added something extra—a handpicked recommendation slipped into her stack.

Azzi always noticed. “You’ve got a good eye,” she said once. “Do you read everything in this store?”

“Enough to know what’s worth rescuing from the donation bin.”

One slow afternoon in late March, Paige caught herself watching the door.

She shook her head and went back to inventory. It wasn’t like Azzi was scheduled or anything.

They didn’t text. Paige didn’t even know her last name. She was just—predictably unpredictable. A firecracker of someone, all dimples and opinions about romantic tropes.

Still, Paige checked the door again.

And again.

Then the bell jingled.

Azzi looked a little more rumpled than usual. Less sparkle, more tired eyes. But her voice was still warm when she greeted Paige.

“Guess what,” she said, pulling a dog-eared novel from her bag. “He asked if I wanted to meet his wife.”

“No,” Paige said, scandalized, “You are joking.” The blonde couldn’t help herself and started laughing.

Azzi roll her eyes feigning annoyance.

“Yes. Apparently, they’re poly and ‘super open’.” She dropped the book on the counter. “I’m starting to give up.”

Azzi stared at the book like it had betrayed her. “You think I’m the problem?”

“No,” Paige said, too quickly. “I think you just have bad taste.” She shrugged.

Azzi huffs. “Thank you Paige.”

“Anytime.”

Azzi gave her a look.

That night, long after closing, Paige lingered in the romance section. The air smelled like old pages and cherry lip balm—Azzi’s, probably, from all her visits.

She ran a finger along the spines. Found one of her favorites—The Long Way Round—a lesser-known but painfully beautiful slow-burn. The kind of story where the ending hurts a little, but the good kind of hurt.

She flipped it open. Pulled a post-it from her pocket.

“Maybe you’re reading the wrong ones.” –P

She stuck it just inside the front cover.

And slid it between the others on the shelf.

Not thinking twice before she regrets it.

-

Three weeks passed.

Azzi didn’t come in.

Paige told herself she didn’t care. People disappeared all the time.

Maybe she got busy.

Maybe she’d finally found someone who didn’t suck.

Was it selfish that Paige wishes she didn’t?

Maybe Azzi won’t come back again.

Maybe—

The bell.

Azzi.

She looked flushed from the cold, cheeks pink, eyes wide like she wasn’t sure what she was doing.

“Hey,” she said, halfway between casual and something else.

“Hey,” Paige echoed, hoping she didn’t sound like she’d just sprinted out of a daydream.

Azzi approached the counter, slowly. “So I, uh. I read something.”

Paige’s pulse skittered.

Fuck.

This is the exact moment where Paige is suppose to regret her past decisions.

But she didn’t.

Azzi smiled faintly, then held up a book.

The Long Way Round.

“I, uh. Found this on the shelf.”

Paige tried to act casual. Her pulse betraying her. “Another fail date?”

Azzi ignore her and flipped the book open. “You left a note.”

Paige’s throat tightened. “I leave lots of notes.”

Lie.

Azzi didn’t smile this time. “This one had a very specifically suggest.”

Paige opened her mouth, but Azzi beat her to it.

“I wasn’t on dates. I just… needed to figure out if I kept coming back for the books or for the person handing them to me.”

That did it.

Paige blinked.

This is when Paige backdown before everything goes all wrong.

But again, she didn’t.

“And?”

“I realized I haven’t read a single book you’ve given me without thinking about you halfway through.”

Paige snorted, but it came out uneven. “That’s dangerous. You’re starting to associate romance with snarky bookstore girls.”

There it was.

Paige trying to give Azzi an escape.

Azzi stepped closer, eyes holding hers. “Yeah. I think I’m okay with that.”

Paige cracked a nervous smile. “What gave it away? The post-it? The constant excellent taste in recommendations?”

Again.

Another one.

The last.

Take it or drown in it.

Azzi gave her a look,

“The fact that you pretended like you didn’t notice I only returned books when you were working.”

Fuck it.

“Please,” Paige said. “I notice everything. I’m basically the hot librarian archetype. It’s in the job description.”

Azzi laughed, and it broke something wide open between them.

Returning to the usual light ambient.

Paige reached for the book, then paused. “You know, technically this one’s non-returnable.”

“Oh?” Azzi tilted her head. Amusement dancing in her voice.

“Yeah. New policy. If it makes your heart do that annoying fluttery thing, you’re required to keep it.”

“Sounds binding,” Azzi said.

“It is,” Paige replied. “Very serious magic. Has to be sealed with a kiss.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “That in the fine print?”

Paige grinned. “Read it again. It’s between the lines.”

Azzi leaned in, close enough to feel the hum between them.

“Guess I’ll have to finish the book.”

Paige’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Or we write our own.”

[azz35]

TREE-HOUSE

Paige didn’t remember the moment the treehouse became her favorite place in the world. Maybe it was when she and her dad first climbed up the ladder, a bucket of nails swinging from his belt and that wide grin he always wore when he was building something for her.

Maybe it was the first time she was allowed to be there alone, sprawled across the wood planks with a basketball in one hand and the late summer light soaking everything in gold.

Or maybe it was when she saw her.

Yeah.

Definitely when she saw her.

-

That day was still warm with the breath of late August. The kind of day when the crickets hummed too loud and the air stuck to your skin like syrup.

Paige had just pushed open the creaky little door at the top of the ladder when she saw someone.

A girl, already sitting inside. Legs crossed. Sneakers off. Wearing a pale pink hoodie even though it was hot enough to melt sidewalk chalk.

She had dark skin and short black hair braided in two, and when she turned her head to look at Paige, there was just a soft single dimple smile.

Just one.

Somehow that made Paige chest feel warm.

Too warm.

Like really warm.

Paige had blinked, not scared—just confused. Curious. Always curious.

“Who are you?” the blonde asked.

The girl didn’t even flinch. “Azzi.”

Paige tilted her head, processing. “What are you doing in my treehouse, Azzi?”

It wasn’t a demand, not really. She wasn’t telling her to leave or insinuating it.

It was just a question.

Like the way she’d ask someone why they liked a certain color. Or why people hated sour gummies.

Really, how could they?

Weirdos.

“I like it.” She shrugged.

Like that was the only reason she needed. Like liking something was enough to make it hers.

Maybe it was.

Paige looked at her for a moment. Like internally deciding something important.

She hummed to herself.

Then she burst into a smile, a toothy one.

“Wanna be friends?”

Azzi’s smile came slow, soft, the dimple deepening on one side. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And that was it.

They didn’t shake hands (even though Paige suggest it). Or promise anything in blood like the girls in movies.

They just started talking. About anything. About everything.

And again anything.

Azzi said she liked basketball. No—loved basketball. Paige immediately declared her a kindred spirit.

They both hated pickles. Azzi had a weird thing for the smell of old books and Paige for the smell of sharpies.

Azzi laugh at her.

Paige pretended she was offended.

The blonde told Azzi about her mom’s spaghetti that always stuck together in clumps, and Azzi confessed she read books under her blanket at night with a flashlight because in her school they thought reading for fun was “nerdy.”

Paige snort

“It’s nerdy.”

Azzi roll her eyes.

Paige smile. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing though.”

Azzi blink in shock. Like she never thought of it in that way.

She hummed

“Smart.”

-

Later that night, Paige told her mom about her new friend. “Azzi,” she said, grinning so wide it made her cheeks hurt.

Her mom raised an eyebrow. “Azzi?”

“Uh-huh. She was in the treehouse. She likes, no, loves basketball too!!”

Her mother just chuckled softly and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Her mom didn't crash Paige's feelings telling her that there was no possibly way a girl could sneak there.

She didn’t ask questions. She just accepted it, like moms sometimes do when the universe gets weird around their kids.

-

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.

And Paige? she grew even more inseparable to Azzi.

Paige would race home from school, drop her backpack on the porch, and climb the ladder two steps at a time. Azzi would already be waiting—always. Sometimes she’d have a book cracked open, sometimes a basketball spinning lazily in her palm. Always with that same hoodie. Always with that soft smile.

-

It wasn’t until two years later that everything began to unravel.

It started with the neighbors.

“Your stupid treehouse is on our side of the fence,” one of them snapped, arms crossed and voice sharp enough to cut air.

Paige’s dad tried to talk to them, but it didn’t matter. Some grown-ups didn’t like being wrong.

So the treehouse had to come down despite Paige’s protests.

The blonde cried when the first wooden board came loose. She sat on the porch, fists balled in her lap, trying not to watch—but unable to look away.

Azzi sat beside her, cross-legged like always.

“You can still come to my house” Paige offered, voice small and hopeful.

Azzi just looked at her and smile, the dimple one.

Paige chest flustered.

“We’ll meet again.” Azzi said, soft and simple.

Paige believed her.

She thought that by “again” she meant “tomorrow”.

But then Paige came from school, expecting Azzi in her house already.

Maybe Azzi wasn’t in the couch because she was hungry.

Reasonable.

Well maybe she wasn’t at the kitchen ‘cause she already eat.

Makes sense.

Or maybe she wasn’t in Paige’s room because she was gone.

Nah

Imposible.

Right?

Azzi never showed up again.

Just like that.

Not even a goodbye, like Paige meant so little to her.

-

Years passed. Alot of them.

Azzi's named stop lingering for a time in Paige's house.

Ever since Paige had knocked every door in the neighborhood looking for a two braid girl with a cute single dimple smile and soft voice.

Ever since Paige only found apologetically faces and a bunch’s of “never heard of her but i’ll be looking”.

It was that kind of rule you didn’t say but it’s already written.

No one talked about Azzi.

Never.

Until that one family dinner when her uncle thought that fifteen was enough age to hear the truth or joke about it.

“Remember when Paige had that imaginary friend? What was her name? Zazzy?”

“Azzi.” her mom corrected.

[azz35]

SIXTEEN

The thing about being sixteen is that everything feels like it's the first time it's ever happened.

The first time your hands brush and your heart skips.

The first time silence answers a question louder than words ever could.

The first time you realize love and fear can sit in the same chest.

Paige is still learning that.

She's still learning that people need more than loyalty-they need to be seen. To be held in a way that says, I know who you are, and I'm not going anywhere.

But that kind of knowing takes courage.

And Paige didn't have it when it really counted.

-

High school is weird, one minute, you're playing HORSE in the driveway with your best friend laughing at some stupid joke and the next, you're standing five feet apart at lunch pretending you don't remember the sound of her laugh in the dark.

But she does,

Paige remembers everything.

She remembers how Azzi would shoot baskets with her eyes closed just to make her laugh, how she talked about girls like she was trying to make the words feel normal in her mouth, how her hands always shook a little when she said something a little too risky.

Sixteen is so young. Too young to know how to hold someone else's truth without flinching.

But Azzi had trusted her.

And Paige? she didn't judge her.

Not exactly. She just stood too still and watched it fall.

The truth is, Paige was scared. Not of Azzi. Not of what they were.

She was scared of the parts of herself that wanted it too.

Because liking a girl wasn't easy. Not when your parents say "that phase" like it's a disease. Not when the girls in P.E. joke like the worst thing in the world is being gay in a locker room.

Paige swallowed her fear. And in doing so, she swallowed Azzi's too.

And now, it's too quiet.

"I didn't know how to love you out loud."

Because that's what it was.

It wasn't that she didn't feel it. It was that she didn't know how to feel it and still survive everything else. The stares. The whispers. Her mom. Herself.

At sixteen, love can look like fear.

And fear can look like silence.

And silence can look like betrayal.

There's no neat ending to this kind of story.

There's just Paige, sitting in the back of the gym after practice, watching Azzi walk away again.

There's just memory-warm and aching, soft around the edges-of a girl who once said "I think I like girls" and meant "Please don't leave me alone in this."

There's just the sting of realizing you did.

Not because you didn't love her.

But because you didn't know you were allowed to.