They began meeting on purpose. Elias was an archivist; Clara was a restorer of old maps. They spent their afternoons in a quiet library basement, surrounded by the scent of vanilla and old paper. They didn't talk much, but they developed a shorthand: a coffee left on a desk meant I'm glad you're here, and a bookmarked page meant you have to read this. They were learning that love didn't always need a loud voice; sometimes, it was written in the margins.
