Nice Girl Like You: A

The Midnight Gallery was not a museum; it was a sanctuary of "lost things." The air smelled of rain and old paper. Inside, a man with ink-stained fingers and a crooked tie looked up from a desk. "You’re late," he said, not unkindly.

"Actually," Lucy said, her voice steady and strange to her own ears, "I think I’m done being nice. I’ve decided to be interesting instead." A Nice Girl Like You

Being a "nice girl," Lucy didn’t open the journal. She spent three hours researching the address. She discovered that Wickham Lane had been a hidden alleyway behind the old clock tower, sealed off since the 1920s. Against every logical instinct she possessed, Lucy didn’t call the post office. She took the brass key and walked toward the clock tower. The Midnight Gallery was not a museum; it

Everything changed on a Tuesday afternoon when Lucy received a package by mistake. It wasn't the ergonomic keyboard she’d ordered. Inside the velvet-lined box was a vintage, leather-bound journal and a heavy brass key with a tag that simply read: The Midnight Gallery. 14 Wickham Lane. "Actually," Lucy said, her voice steady and strange

The man, whose nameplate read Julian , didn't take the box. "We don't make mistakes, Lucy. That journal belongs to a version of you that hasn't happened yet."

"I’m Lucy. I’m here to return this. It was sent to me by mistake."