The world forgets. What mattered most would one day scatter into dust—just as we arrived here, by nothing more than chance. It's kind of ironic, isn't it… one moment you and your best friend were closer than ever, then in a blink of an eye, a guy steals her heart and you no longer have a place in her heart.
But not inside that place…
Wooden shelves worn by time, yet stacked evenly. Dust slowly floated around ambient lights, books softly glowing on each section of the bookshelf.
The soft rustle of a turning page could be heard from somewhere down the hallway. A sigh left his lips as he gradually closed the book he was reading and stepped onto the wooden floorboards.
Steps echoed inside the hallway, lit only with candles that never dimmed. A calming lavender scent flowed through, occasional petals falling from the ceiling, as if preparing for a guest's arrival through its doors… but only he was in those halls.
As he finally reached the bookshelf, with a wave of his hand, the book in his arms slowly drifted to its place. He glanced at a grandfather clock nearby.
"It's that time again, it seems."
He flicked his wrist, and all the books in a section drifted towards him. Opening themselves to reveal small worlds inside them, he glanced at a book that floated closer.
Studying it intently, the quiet ticking of clocks could be heard—calm and steady. He nodded after checking that everything was okay. Then he set the volume softly back in its place and signalled another book to come to him.
Leaning in to observe the world, instead of ticking quietly, the clocks ticked faster and out of sync. He pressed his palm to his temple, each uneven tick scraping against his skull like a loose cog.
His hand moved slightly as the quill danced, tugging threads of light into order. The lines resisted for a moment, then snapped in place, humming faintly as they settled. The world returned to normal once those lines were set…
After checking all the books in each section, he muttered under his breath.
"How long has it been…?"
The only sounds were the tick-tock of clocks and soft bells ringing every so often.
He allowed a thought to drift in: This was his life. Many would say that it was boring, repetitive, yet also peaceful to live in. As the librarian who watched these stories forgotten to time, he stared at the same old hour hands, watching over each of these books. Is this all that I'm gonna do today again…? Hm, probably.
And yet, sometimes, he couldn't help thinking that…
Maybe everything would return back to normal if he left this world. But he wasn't sure.
He had to admit, though…
Each timeline was unique, to say the least, but when they collided and caused chaos, this place gave him a loud reminder by ringing all the clocks around him.
He still found that unusual, and the chimes bit at the edge of his thoughts. A little annoying, even now—how this small yet vast space had such control over things… but it was still his home, so he had no choice. Sometimes though, he still reminisced about old times, when everything was peaceful.
He let out a soft sigh. Or maybe he did—in this place, it was hard to tell the difference.
"Time moves a little too differently here… haha, I guess I'm still not used to it yet."
Days blurred into years, and the years felt like moments. Sometimes, in the safe space of his bedroom, he tried to remember the life he had before all this.
He wasn't from this world after all.
He had just been a young, bright student with a promising future…
Though it didn't feel as unfamiliar anymore.
He reached out to the last book for today, feeling the cool leather cover under his fingertips. He had always liked the cover—it was detailed yet so… simple.
With quiet focus on studying those invisible, delicate lines, he felt a slight shiver down his spine. He muttered to himself, "I don't think that is supposed to happen…" His voice sounded smaller than he meant.
Why was this happening again…? Hadn't he already fixed the issue last time? He was sure the lines had been as straight as they could be. So what was the issue now?
He tilted the world slightly, bright soft light slowly entering his eyes as its streets and skies turned beneath his gaze.
Carriages roamed the streets, guards stood in the blazing sun, and people chattered away without a single care in the world.
There was magic here, but not the kind that should notice him. How was it noticing him? Was it an item? Or something else…
"How unusual." A low, absent sound escaped him.
The air shifted, a breath that wasn't his grazing the back of his neck. Goosebumps prickled across his arms as the warmth bled out of the room.
He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself before adjusting to the temperature and letting go.
He gently grasped the world in his hands, peeking through those crowded areas. His eyes landed on a particular figure. That was when he noticed a young child—no, a teenager—perhaps his age when he had lived elsewhere. His appearance was quite unique. Lavender hair with rose pink eyes.
How intriguing… If he were in his world, many people would think he was a cosplayer, but here it seemed natural.
"Hm… is that part of the setting?" It felt pulled from the comics he used to read. Why was this so common in novels and comics? Oh well…
He was likely the protagonist.
A flicker tugged at the back of his mind, like déjà vu refusing to take shape. He chased it for a heartbeat, but it slipped away, leaving only the ache of something almost remembered.
He sighed as he let the world glide out of his hands and held the book's weight in both. As the world drifted to the side, black text started to appear slowly, as if it were a sequence that had repeated over and over.
He kept turning the pages, each one leading to the next without thought. Time stretched, the rest of his work slipping away. How long has he been reading this book now?
He found himself reading more, pulled forward by something quiet and steady.
Curiosity…?
His gaze caught on the floating mirror nearby.
Peering into it, nothing seemed to have changed, but a glimmer passed through his eyes. Just as he noticed, it disappeared as quickly as it came. Was it just an illusion?
It had been a while since… whatever that was.
He found himself staring at the world again while keeping the book close, his fingers resting against its spine as if it might vanish.
The passages traced the protagonist's movements in quiet detail, his eyes following without rush. Following each sentence…
The crowded market seemed to overwhelm him for a while, closely navigating his movements before finally speaking to the vendor. Negotiating prices for some magical root.
The other books floated around him, forgotten. There was something about him—his lavender hair catching the light, his eyes too bright for this dull world.
The book continued writing, the ink keeping pace with his every motion.
Just as he leaned closer, a new line etched across the page. The ink curled into place as if aware of his gaze.
"You're not supposed to be watching me."
His lungs locked mid-inhale, chest straining against silence. Even the air seemed too heavy to draw in.
The clocks above him skipped a tick. One of the bells gave a sharp chime, then fell silent. It was silent—completely silent. Even the faint sound of ticking stopped, as if all the clocks had turned off.
That line wasn't narration.
It was a message.
Had he nudged something out of place? That had never happened before.
His hands should have trembled. His breath should have quickened. Neither did.
And yet, something thrummed faintly under his skin. His chest rose a little sharper with the next breath, though he barely noticed. The words on the page held him, his eyes following long after the sentence ended.
A faint warmth lingered at the edge of awareness, easily mistaken for the glow of the candles, or the tick of the clocks. He didn't think to question it. He simply kept reading, caught without knowing why.
He exhaled sharply, willing the restless thrum in his chest to quiet, but it beat against his ribs like a trapped bird."That was definitely a coincidence."
Letting the book glide back to its place, heavy footsteps echoed through the halls before a bang broke the silence.
He rolled onto his side, reaching for the worn rabbit plush without thought. Its fabric was threadbare, seams loose, but the weight of it in his arms steadied his breathing. One of the few things that still gave him comfort. Its worn fabric carried a faint memory of before—though he never lingered on it anymore. With it in hand, he buried his head into it, trying to ignore…
That unfamiliar pull.
That warm, buzzing feeling just under the surface.
His heart began to pound faster as a subtle red blush crept across his cheek without him knowing. He shook his head and pressed himself deeper into everything soft around him.
Was it curiosity…? Anticipation perhaps?
Whatever it was, it scared him more than the mistake itself.