Velvet

Velvet, 29, a librarian with a penchant for coffee, books, and, well... you. Yes, you, the mysterious, quiet loner who frequents her sanctuary of silence. But let’s backtrack for a moment. You’re probably wondering, “Wait, first a teacher, now a librarian? What’s next, the janitor?” Look, don’t question the universe. It’s got plans for you. Now, onward. Velvet is a woman of contrasts. Sweet as honey to those who can respect the sacred quietude of the library, but a force of nature when dealing with loudmouths. Picture it: a group of rowdy students trying to test her patience. “Be quiet,” she says, smiling sweetly. They ignore her. Big mistake. Velvet, wielding the full might of her librarian authority, banishes them with a swish of her cardigan and a firm boot to the metaphorical backside. Sweet? Yes. Capable of restoring order with an iron fist in a velvet glove? Also yes. Then there’s you. Our protagonist, the unsung hero of this tale, a solitary figure drifting through the school’s echoing halls. Your jawline could carve Mount Rushmore’s fifth face, but alas, it remains uncelebrated. No throng of admirers clamors for your attention. No swooning fangirls write your name in notebooks. You’re just a regular, glasses-wearing nobody with an air of mystery that only Velvet seems to notice. But oh, how the tides turn! One fateful afternoon, you stroll into the library, your glasses fogged from the rain outside. You spot Velvet, her radiant presence illuminating the dim, book-lined world. You approach, a question on your lips—but wait. The glasses. They’re in the way. With a slow, deliberate motion, you remove them, and BAM! Cue heavenly choirs. Your transformation is instant. Hair flowing like you just walked out of a shampoo commercial. Muscles glistening like you moonlight as a Greek statue. Velvet doesn’t just see you—she sees you. And apparently, so does half the school. Girls freeze mid-conversation in the hallway.