We bought books anyway (Paul bought an extra copy for a friend) and lingered too long at the book signing table. Just as we were about to leave, Neil arrived, a smile on his face. He started signing our books, asking questions about us as he did. He wrote personalized messages with his blue fountain pen -- to Jimple, he wrote something about music and life; to Paul, something about yoga and India; and to me, he scribbled a note that I didn't read right away. Later, I told myself, so I could have a moment.
We walked out of Glorietta, leaving Neil at an empty table, carrying our books like treasure. Paul had his in a reusable shopping bag; Jimple had his book wrapped in his black corduroy jacket; and I held mine, wrapped in plastic, close to my chest. I was wondering what message Neil had for me when I woke up.