The library was closing.
He picked up his bag and left quietly, and after a moment of standing still, she gathered her own things and followed. Not just because it was time to go, but because something within her refused to let the day end like that. She had finally spoken to him—crossed that invisible line she'd been orbiting for weeks. If she didn't try now, she knew she might never find the nerve again.
So, she didn't linger behind. They both exited through the same doors, and their pace fell into an unspoken rhythm—side by side, like it had always meant to be that way.
Afterwards, he went to sit on one of the benches outside. She stood still for a moment, heart thudding in her chest. Then, gathering every ounce of courage left inside her, she walked toward him.
"I wanted to talk to you," she said, voice soft but steady.
He looked up and smiled faintly. "Yes?"
"I mean… somewhere private. If that's okay."
He didn't hesitate. He simply stood and followed her. They crossed the courtyard together, walking toward the quieter end of the garden, where shadows stretched long and the world felt just a little slower.
When they reached a quiet, tucked-away corner of the garden, she turned to face him, trying to find her voice. The words tangled somewhere between her heart and her tongue. She fumbled, searching for the right phrasing, and ended up misunderstood. At one point, he thought she was offering to teach him—an idea so far from what she meant that it left her momentarily speechless.
All she had wanted was to learn. To listen. To speak with him, to hear what mattered to him, to understand the faith and calm that seemed to surround him like a gentle shield. That was all.
Somehow, through pauses and small clarifications, her intention found its way to him.
He understood.
They spoke for a little while, the conversation light, careful, full of tiny hesitations. And then, just before he was about to leave, he gave her his number. She accepted it with a quiet reverence, as if it were made of something fragile and precious.
They had walked close to his car by then. She offered him a grateful goodbye, holding the moment in her hands as carefully as the slip of paper tucked into her pocket. Then she turned back toward her own path.
Later that evening, she could not stop smiling. Her steps felt light, her chest warm. She even recorded a video of herself—just to capture it. Just in case, one day, she needed to remember what this moment had felt like.