A Nice Girl Like You -

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.

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." A Nice Girl Like You

She leaned over the desk and wrote: Today, I decided to be difficult. The Midnight Gallery was not a museum; it

Lucy Thorne lived her life by a series of color-coded spreadsheets. She had a five-year plan for her career in forensic accounting, a three-year plan for a mortgage, and a weekly meal prep schedule that never deviated from "Meatless Monday." In the small town of Oakhaven, she was known as the girl who always remembered birthdays, never parked over the line, and consistently wore beige because it was "sensible." Her best friend, Mia, called her "The Human Protractor." The man, whose nameplate read Julian , didn't take the box

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.