Read Between the Lines (2022) – A Gentle, Honest LGBTQ Bookstore Romance
Read Between the Lines is one of those short films that feels almost too real. It doesn’t try to impress you with big drama – it just drops you inside a moment you’ve probably lived yourself: standing in a bookstore, staring at someone you like, and negotiating with your own nerves like they’re a hostage situation.
Carlos is the classic “good guy who freezes when it matters.” Sweet, thoughtful, sensitive – and absolutely useless the second he tries to approach a cute guy. His best friend Amari, on the other hand, has the energy of someone who would happily drag you into chaos if it meant helping you grow. Their friendship is the backbone of the film, warm and natural, the kind where teasing is just another word for love.
The crush, of course, is Milo – the calm, soft-spoken bookseller who looks like he stepped straight out of a queer indie romance. The whole setup is charming: books, shy glances, awkward smiles… it’s an easy place to fall for someone.
And then comes the heartbreak. Carlos finally gathers all the courage he has, walks up to Milo, and gets hit with a gentle but firm: “You’re just not really my type.”
It stings. You feel it with him. But the film does something honest here – it doesn’t spin the moment into tragedy. Instead, it shows the tiny piece of growth inside the embarrassment. Carlos did something he never thought he would. He stepped forward. He survived it. And strangely, he feels lighter afterward.
The last twist is cute in a very human way – the note tucked inside the book, signed by someone else entirely. Life always has a way of opening a door you weren’t looking at. The film doesn’t promise a fairy-tale ending. It just nudges you and says, “See? You moved. That’s what matters.”
Read Between the Lines is warm, relatable, and gently funny. A small story about courage, friendship, and the quiet victories that shape us far more than the big ones. Fourteen minutes – and you walk away smiling, a little braver than before.





















