Io didn’t necessarily like being the sort of person to bother someone while they were browsing for books — deciding whether or not to delve into the pages of a particular novel seemed almost personal, in a way. What you liked to read said a lot about you, at least in his opinion, and feeling pressured into spending time with a tome which, at best was disinteresting and at worst, was unbearable, wasn’t a scenario he wished to perpetuate. However, he hadn’t been able to help that from the corner of his eye, he had seen the woman in the aisle next to him re-shelve a cream colored paperback. Did she maybe already own it? That was the only reasonable explanation. And yet, Io couldn’t refrain from commenting.