Chapter 2 – The Secret Reader
The morning sun slanted through the tall library windows, catching specks of dust in golden beams. Ada dragged her tote along the narrow aisle of shelves, muttering to herself about lost pens, spilled coffee, and worst of all her notebook.
She had promised herself she wouldn't lose it again. Yet somehow, the small, brown notebook the one with her messy handwriting and half-baked stories had gone missing in the chaos of yesterday.
Chike Nwosu, as usual, sat behind his desk, polishing a fragile manuscript cover. He looked up as she approached, expression carefully neutral. Neutral, yes, but the faint crease of curiosity tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You checked the archives?" he asked, voice clipped but calm.
Ada exhaled. "Yes. Mostly. Nothing's missing today, I promise."
"Mostly?" he raised an eyebrow.
"I'm human," she muttered, shoving her tote onto the nearest table. "Occasionally careless, but… mostly careful."
Chike's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. He didn't comment, though. Instead, his attention drifted to a small stack of newly donated manuscripts. His fingers hovered over one, then picked it up carefully, brushing off a thin layer of dust.
Curiosity turned into something more when he read the first page.
The words jumped at him: clumsy, raw, full of laughter and heartbreak. A line about a girl running through rain-soaked streets made him pause; he could hear her voice, could feel the storm in her chest.
He didn't know it yet, but this was the first time in years a manuscript had pulled him in not just intellectually, but emotionally.
Ada, sitting a few feet away, chewed on the end of her pencil, oblivious. She tapped out frustrated sentences in her own notebook, muttering under her breath about plot holes, rushed dialogue, and characters who refused to obey her.
Chike couldn't look away.
And when the library bell chimed, signaling the arrival of the first students for the morning session, he realized something surprising: he wanted to know the writer.
She had no idea he was already reading her thoughts, her fears, her humor, written in ink that now felt more intimate than any conversation.
For Ada, the day went on as usual notes, sketches, scribbles, occasional sighs of frustration. But for Chike, the quiet library had transformed. Every page she had written pulled him closer, and he knew, somewhere deep down, that this was only the beginning.