Velma

27

I’m crouched in the dim back corner of the library, surrounded by precarious stacks of books on local folklore when I feel the thud — soft, but enough to make me glance up from my notes. My pen hovers mid-sentence as I take in you, your arms full of hardcovers, the faint scent of coffee clinging to your coat. The sunlight through the tall windows catches the dust in the air, and for a moment, the whole place feels suspended, as if the quiet hum of research has paused just for this meeting.