In his hands rests the medal from the marathon, its metallic surface catching the soft glow of the lamp. Beside it lies the record paper, the numbers etched in bold—proof of endurance, of perseverance. Julian studies them both, and a smile flickers across his lips, gentle and proud.
Yet even as he savors the achievement, another image rises in his mind—Grace. The fleeting moment when their eyes had met, the kind of memory that lingers longer than any finish line.
He lifts his phone, frames the medal and record, and captures the memory in a single photo. The click echoes softly in the room. Setting the phone aside, he lowers his head, his hands resting over the medal.
"Lord," he murmurs, voice steady, reverent, "You are leading us to meet again. All thanks to Your guidance."
A warm, peaceful smile spreads across his face, the kind that seems to settle deeper than the skin, radiating from the quiet certainty in his heart.
Monday morning, Julian steps into the lecture room, the familiar scent of polished wood and paper greeting him. Thirty-some students occupy the theater-style seats, their attentive eyes tracing the slight rise of each row, small staircases dividing the levels.
"Good morning, all," Julian says, setting his laptop down on the podium desk with a quiet authority. "Picking up from where we left off last class, let's explore the importance of fabric choices in fashion."
He lifts the remote in his hand, pointing to the screen as slides illuminate the nuances of textures, weights, and weaves. The room hums with curiosity, questions floating upward as students raise their hands.
"Professor, about the fabric categories—the book is pretty expensive and thick. Can we get it from the library?" one student asks.
Julian pauses, considering for a moment, then responds with calm reassurance.
"I'll check the school libraries to see if they have copies. And if not, I'll switch to other references so you all aren't pressured to buy the costly book."
A ripple of smiles spreads across the room. His gentle humor warms the space, the kind of presence that eases the nerves of students while keeping their focus sharp.
Class eventually ends, and a few students linger, approaching Julian with more questions. He answers each carefully, patiently, leaning slightly closer as if giving each word its own weight. When the last student departs, he packs his laptop into his bag, the small click of the zipper echoing softly.
Stepping out of the faculty building, the campus greets him with early signs of March. Fresh greenery peeks through the remaining chill of the season. He pauses, letting the breeze brush his face—cool yet carrying a hint of warmth—and takes in the sight of flowers beginning to blossom.
It's spring now, he murmurs to himself, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he walks along the winding path, the campus alive with subtle renewal.
Meanwhile, Grace sits tucked in a quiet corner of the library. The morning is still, the space sparsely populated, and the sunlight filters softly through the tall windows, casting moody streaks across the tables and shelves. She perches at a window-side desk, surrounded on every side by towers of books, the only open path the narrow aisle beside her.
Her laptop glows in front of her as she reads through assignments she submitted last term, scanning carefully to remind herself of her past work. Her brow furrows in concentration, her fingers poised over the keyboard as if ready to annotate or adjust at any moment. She's eager to begin the next semester, though March still lingers and summer classes won't start until June.
The world outside the library feels distant; all she can see and hear is her work. Yet gradually, a heaviness settles over her eyelids, subtle but insistent.
Maybe I came too early… I need some sleep, she thinks, tilting her head back against the chair.
Her eyes close, and her body surrenders to a brief, quiet nap, the soft hum of the library wrapping her in stillness.
The door opens.
Julian steps in, pausing for a moment to take in the calm of the library. His gaze sweeps the rows of shelves before settling on the librarian. A gentle smile spreads across his face.
"Good morning," he says politely, holding up his phone. "Can you tell me if this book is available here?" He shows the librarian the title and details on the screen.
The librarian's face brightens immediately.
"Hello, Professor Lenter," he greets, familiar with Julian's frequent visits. "Of course—I'll check that for you right away."
Julian nods politely, the subtle hum of anticipation in his chest. The library feels almost suspended in time, a quiet stage where paths are about to cross.
The librarian taps at the computer, fingers moving swiftly over the keys.
"Yes, we currently have seven copies here, and a total of thirty copies spread across the other campus libraries."
Julian allows himself a small smile of relief.
Good. The students can all borrow the books without issue, he thinks, the weight of responsibility easing slightly.
"Thank you," he says politely.
"I'll show you to the books," the librarian offers, rising from his chair.
"No, it's okay. Just give me the location number, and I'll find it myself," Julian replies gently, a quiet determination in his tone.
The librarian smiles and prints out a slip of paper, handing it to Julian.
"Here you go, Professor Lenter. It's on the left, far back side of the library."
"Thank you," Julian says again, tucking the paper into his hand.
He walks slowly, quietly, through the nearly empty library, the soft echo of his shoes on the polished floor mingling with the faint rustle of pages and distant whispers. Rows of bookshelves rise around him like silent sentinels, the warm morning light painting long, narrow shadows across the floor.
Then—his steps halt.
Julian walks slowly along the opposite aisle of the library, scanning the shelves for the book the students requested. His steps pause mid-motion as his gaze lands somewhere further down the row.
Grace.
She's here. Engrossed in her own world, seemingly unaware of anything beyond the stacks. Julian stops, his heartbeat quieting in a strange, suspended rhythm—as if the library itself has hushed around them.
She's dressed simply: a white t-shirt under a white button-up, paired with black pants that are neither tight nor loose. The casual attire suits her perfectly, blending with the soft morning light that spills across the library windows. Her face is makeup-free, save for the natural sheen of glossy lips, and she leans back against the chair, head resting lightly on its top, eyes closed toward the ceiling.
Julian studies her silently, memorizing each detail—the curve of her lips, the relaxed tilt of her head, the quiet grace that seems to radiate even in stillness. Time stretches. For a moment, the world narrows down to just her.
He wants to move closer, to be near, to hear the faint brush of her breath, but fear holds him back. One wrong step, one creak of the floor, and she might wake. And then—he might lose this fleeting, perfect moment of simply watching her, of taking her in fully.
So he stands still, letting his eyes trace her form, letting the quiet library wrap them in its calm cocoon.
Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her eyelids flutter.
Grace's eyes open.
Julian lingers at the opposite side of the aisle, his hands brushing lightly against the spines of the books as he pretends to search. But his gaze never wavers from her.
Grace tilts her head first to the right, then to the left, stretching lazily, arms lifting above her head in a slow, fluid motion. Julian allows himself a faint smirk at the simple grace of her movements.
Then she turns to her right—and their eyes meet.
For three suspended seconds, the library fades around them. Only their gaze remains, steady, unbroken.
Grace studies him quietly, with no confusion, no hesitation. Just seeing.
Professor Lenter, her mind whispers.
His tall frame, broad shoulders, and lean, muscular build command attention even in stillness. The black-rimmed glasses frame eyes that are deeper than they should be for just a professor. Straight, symmetrical lips hint at restraint and thoughtfulness. She drinks him in, committing every detail to memory.
He's always so… she thinks, more than I can even imagine.
Julian, too, holds his focus. He doesn't look away, doesn't blink, doesn't move. His eyes, intense and calm at the same time, meet hers fully, as if silently measuring the moment, etching it into his own memory.
Neither moves. Neither speaks. They simply look.
Julian's eyes drink her in, memorizing the sweep of her features—the round, expressive eyes, the glossy lips, the plump cheeks, the delicate frame of her body. His heart beats faster, yet his gaze refuses to leave her, rooted in the quiet pull of recognition.
Grace slowly tilts her head in a subtle nod, a silent greeting. It's almost imperceptible, but for Julian, it feels monumental. His lips curl into the faintest of smiles, a whisper of warmth passing through him.