+TYPED OUT-

+DAY 1-

Your time will come. Monday believed in the sentence. She made it her leitmotiv, and finally, her time was now.

The London book convention, a dream come true for Monday, or should we say author Daye Yeni. Her new adult romance, Love Me Without Buts, made it into not one or two but eight European countries' top ten sales. 

Yes, it took seven years, a timid debut, a flop, a two-year writers' block, depression, an addiction to nicotine, vanilla mocha, and an incalculable number of rewrites, two extremely cliché yet popular trailblazers to get there, but all was worth it.

Now Love Me Without Buts success crossed the English Channel. The woman was ecstatic, Monday had participated in book fairs before, but none were as heart throbbing as the London BookInc fair.

Every anybody who believed they were somebody in the literacy world would be there. The guest lineup had writers and experts from every field.

Amongst them, some were awaited, like the return of Harry Potter in Deathly Hallows.

In the past two years, mental health and well-being had become a worldwide preoccupation and gained space in the literacy microcosm. Thus, everyone who could do it jumped on the develop-yourself wagon just as fiction writers hopped on vampires, werewolves, CEO troops plots.

Non-fiction titles, whether how-to, advice, or motivational, were the trend. The fairs' organizers and sponsors honored the genre by dedicating almost thirty percent of its space to its authors.

Luckily Monday had her spot on the fiction side of the aisles.

She looked at the large POS of her book cover and the books still in their boxes, ready to be displayed. Finally, she had a hardback version. The woman took out her phone; the exploit merited a photo.

"Hey, what are you doing?" A security guard approached her position.

"I'm Daye Yeni, the author," Monday hurried to take out her pass and handed it to the man. He stared at the photo and focused on her face again.

"Eh, don't mind the dreadlocks. I had them in before," Monday said while fluttering her lashes.

The security guard stared at her up and down. His nostrils flared as he pressed on his talkie, "false alert, authorized access."

Monday heard a blurry sound before hearing, "Rodger."

The woman muffled a giggle. Responding that way on the radio was probably the excitement-filled part of the man's job.

"First time, huh?" The guard asked and placed his hands on the hem of his trousers like a sheriff.

Again Monday found herself tempted to laugh, but she toasted a warm smile instead, "is it that obvious?"

The hostile guard's face suddenly opened up as he prepared to deliver his science, "the fair opens its doors at 10 AM. It's 8:00 AM. There won't be anyone here for the next hour, "he paused to make sure Monday paid attention before pursuing.

"Guests like yourself usually arrive at 9:45 AM, see later. So yeah, it shows. Have a good day," the man walked away, leaving Monday by her emplacement.

Her publishing house scheduled two interns to prep her spot the day before, but Naim caught the stomach flu, and Anouska's passport had expired. Monday's spot became a last-minute gig that Ben planned to do when he arrived.

The enthusiasm was such for the writer that she began to set things up herself as arranged on the mockup they presented to her a week before.

Absorbed by the task, the woman didn't see the other exhibitors and guests around or the arrival of Ben and Tim. Before she knew it, the hall bustled with people.