What might be the rest?
Is this not all?
"There is more?" I asked, curious as a child.
Now, don't get me wrong — I was curious, and honestly enjoying the sight of this massive library and its gothic charm. But at the same time, my stomach churned. A quiet unease slithered up my spine, making me nauseous. There's just something about him that keeps me on edge — not quite fear, not quite fascination, but something in between.
I want to believe he's harmless, maybe even someone I could trust — maybe more than that — but how can I ignore my instincts?
"Yeah, there's more," he said, his eyes lighting up like a child about to unwrap a secret. "And I bet you'd love it, Olivia."
That look — that unfiltered excitement — it's almost disarming. It's like he's been waiting all along to show me this.
From the very start.
"Would you not like to save the rest for our next meet?" I said without thinking.
Why did I say that?
Why did it sound like I wanted to see him again?
He paused, eyes narrowing in amusement. "Are you suggesting… that you'll come back?"
His voice softened at the edges, but I caught the smirk forming at the corner of his lips.
Shit.
"I meant— I… I cannot fathom any more of this beautiful place," I blurted out carefully, forcing a nervous smile. "And I have to leave early."
"This early? It's only been an hour," he protested, frowning slightly.
"But what I am about to show is more beautiful than this. Trust me."
How could I ever in this life tell him that he is the reason I cannot trust him!
But I will have to someday, don't I?
"I'll… see it next time," I managed to say, stepping back a little.
His gaze followed the motion, sharp and unreadable. "Next time," he repeated slowly, almost as if tasting the promise. "You mean you're planning to return?"
My throat tightened. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to." His smile widened — too calm, too knowing.
I looked away, my pulse quickening. The room felt heavier all of a sudden. The smell of old parchment, the dim light flickering from the chandeliers, his shadow falling long across the floor — it was all pressing in.
"I should go," I said, almost whispering.
He didn't move. "Let me drive you to your place."
"That's not necessary."
"I insist." His tone left no room for argument.
Obviously, he is one who drove me here, didn't he?
He led the way through the narrow corridor — the same one we entered through. The air grew colder there, and I could hear the faint creak of wood beneath our steps. I kept my distance, but even then, I could feel him — that magnetic pull, like something unseen drawing me closer against my better judgment.
When we reached the door, he turned to me. "You know, Olivia," he said softly, "it's strange. Most of the time, I find this place unsettling. But with you… I can finally fit here."
I froze. "Fit here?"
He smiled faintly. "You'll see."
Before I could ask what he meant, he opened the door. The night air rushed in — cool, freezing.
I stepped out, trying not to look back.
We had a silent walk to his car, where he opened the door like a gentleman.
But just as the door began to close, I heard his voice again — low, distant, almost teasing:
"You'll come back."
The door clicked shut.
And for reasons I couldn't understand… I almost wanted to.