Jay flipped to the first page. Then the second. She sat down cross-legged on the padded wooden chair tucked into the fiction aisle, her back pressed against the bookshelf.
She looked at the title again.
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
A simple book. From 1943. A semi-autobiographical novel by someone named Betty Smith. She'd never heard of it before nor she ever heard about author. But something about the quietness of the cover, the endurance it hinted at, the way the tree stood alone in the city on the cover page —made her want to read. She held the book carefully, like it was something precious.
Just as she turned the first page, her stomach growled.
Loudly. So loud it echoed in the quiet aisle. Her face flushed immediately. She clutched her stomach as if that would silence it.
Then a voice whispered, gentle and amused:
"Here."
Jay turned to see a boy, a few shelves down. A crisp dress shirt. His hair were messy not the type to look poor but especially intentionally made dishevelement. Spectacles slightly too big for his face. He held out a granola bar, hesitating only long enough for her to notice the subtle kindness in his gesture.
Jay blinked. "Oh, no—thank you, I'm okay," she whispered, her voice tight with embarrassment.
But her stomach betrayed her again, growling even louder this time. She hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. Her body was demanding attention she hadn't given it.
The boy still held out the granola bar.
She reached out, slowly, and took it. She wanted to say thank you but her voice betrayed her and she couldn't utter anything.
When her eyes finally met his, recognition struck her.
It was him.
The pharmacist. From the drugstore. The one who had silently pointed her about the female products sections once, when she stood frozen and confused looking for something for her stomachache. The one who had made no comment, just scanned and bagged like it was nothing.
He smiled sheepishly now and looked down, his cheeks flushed slightly. She realized she must be blushing too, from ear to ear.
Before either of them could say anything, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, stood, and mouthed a quick, "Sorry," before walking away toward the front of the library.
Jay sat motionless, watching him leave. She hadn't even asked his name. she kept on looking after him until her disappeard.
Then she looked down at the granola bar. Her fingers unwrapped the granola bar slowly. She took a small bite. Something about it made her smile. A small, genuine, shy smile.
She took another bite, then returned her attention to the book. She started reading…
Chapter One.
"There's a tree that grows in Brooklyn. Some people call it the Tree of Heaven. No matter where its seed falls, it makes a tree which struggles to reach the sky."
Jay paused.
She reread that line.
"It grows in boarded-up lots and out of neglected rubbish heaps, and it is the only tree that grows out of cement."
A tree growing from cement? She thought to herself. Then she took out her mobile and searched tree growing out of cement. She say many instances where a tree, plant or vine came out of solid rocks or cement. But not something specific that grows out of the cement. So she stopped searching and got back to the book.
The chapter followed a young girl named Francie Nolan, her Saturday afternoons, her tin-can collecting, her little rituals of beauty and resilience in a world that offered so little. Jay felt something familiar in every small detail.
Francie used to picked flowers from trash heaps. Jay remembered that she had also done that once, behind the schoolyard, pulling out a stem of dandelions and pretending it was a gift bouquet. Jay was find of giving and receving gifts but the only problems was that there was no one to receive or give.
As she closed the first chapter, her throat tightened. She gently laid her head down on the table, her arms folded under her forehead. She didn't sleep. She just breathed — trying to steady herself.
After a few minutes, she sat back up and turned the page.
Chapter Two.
This chapter focused on Francie's father. Johnny Nolan. A singing waiter with dreams too big for the fragile man he was. Francie loved him. Desperately. Even though he was unreliable, always late with money, often absent , he saw her. He believed in her.
Jay blinked quickly. Her chest began to ache.
She didn't know why she was reacting this way. The book wasn't dramatic. Not yet. No big tragedy had happened. And yet… her throat hurt.
She was trying not to cry. Her nose sniffled softly, every few minutes. Her fingers pressed the corners of her eyes. She read on.
"Francie looked at her father and didn't see that he was drunk, that his blue eyes were bloodshot, that his mouth was slack. She saw only the handsome man who sang songs."
Jay's breath hitched but she kept on reading, her pool of tears, ready to fall any moment. Soon she reached to chapter 3 and over an hour had passed since she sat down.
The aisle was quiet around her — but inside her, she was struggling to keep quiet she wanted to cry aloud.
Chapter three detailed Francie's mother, Katie. The way she worked her fingers raw to keep the family afloat. Her silence. Her strength. Her coldness.
Jay's hands trembled. She had reached her limit. A tear slipped out. Then another.
She didn't even try to stop them anymore. She couldn't bring herself to read more. And then she tightly closed her eyes. She was crying silently yet bitterly.
"Here."
She jumped slightly at the voice and slowly opened her eyes, trying to wipe her eyes with her sleeves.
The voice was familiar. She turned.
It was him again.
The boy in the too-big glasses.
He wasn't looking at her directly — just sitting a few chairs away now, bent over a thick pharmacy textbook.
He held out a small pack of pocket tissues, still not meeting her eyes.
Jay hesitated, then took them with trembling fingers.
She wiped her tears. Then her nose. She wasn't even embarrassed this time.
She just sat there quietly with the tissues and the book in her lap, her eyes still glistening.
She looked over at him once. He looked up too. They didn't smile. They didn't do anything just kept looking at each other, before jay silently looked away, a silent exchange between two quiet souls.
Jay picked up her bag put the book back at its place and almost rushed towards the exit of the library.