The bookstore smelled of roasted coffee and fresh ink, a scent that always reminded me of new beginnings. It was a small, independent shop in Bloomsbury, tucked between a bakery and a shop that sold nothing but maps of the London Underground. It was the kind of place where the floorboards creaked underfoot and the lights were warm and low, casting long shadows across the tables stacked with books.
I stood in the back room, hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain. I could hear the murmur of the crowd in the main shop. It was a full house. Not a stadium, not a hall, just a room full of people who had bought the book. The Architecture of Silence. My name was on the cover. Bella Chen-Valerio. Not Dr. Chen-Valerio. Just Bella. The publisher had argued for the title, for the academic weight of it.
