She could not recall clearly whether it happened before or after, only that it lived in her memory like a blur, suspended between certainty and doubt.
It was their third meeting, the second time she had actually sat with him. Her brother was supposed to join her at the library that day—an invitation she now regretted. At the time, it had felt harmless, casual even. But when she realized she might run into him, the thought of her brother being there too filled her with dread. Her brother would misunderstand, she thought. He would see the way she lingered, the way her eyes gave her away. And he would not approve.
Still, what happened happened.
Earlier that day she had sent him a message, telling him she would take the book from him today. The message went unseen, so she assumed he would not be coming. But when she entered the library, there he was. She couldn't remember if she had taken the stairs deliberately in the hope of catching a glimpse of him, or if it was coincidence that their paths crossed. All she knew was that she saw him—and her heart jolted.
She thought, after their first conversation, things might have shifted. Perhaps they would speak like friends now, ease into casual words and simple greetings. After all, she had been the one to break the silence first; surely now it was his turn to continue it. But none of that happened.
He lowered his head as she passed him on the stairs, ignoring her presence completely.
For a moment she stood there, caught between hesitation and hope. And then, gathering her courage, she asked softly, "Did you bring your book?"
He looked startled—almost caught off guard—then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly before replying that he forgot his book at home.
She followed him inside until he sat, handing him her things to keep. But when she returned, he was no longer where she had left him. Instead, he sat by the far window, his laptop open before him, his phone forgotten somewhere else.
Later, whispers reached her ears. A girl told her quietly to be wary of him. Her brother, too, offered the same warning.
The words lingered in her mind, like small shadows cast against the brightness she had felt.