Kim Taehyung had always believed libraries held magic though usually the quiet kind, the sort that lived between covers and whispered itself from page to page. He never expected to find it in the lost and found box.
It was an ordinary Saturday shift. He was crouched behind the counter, sorting through a stack of abandoned things: glasses cases, tangled chargers, a green glove. At the bottom of the drawer, beneath a battered copy of The Little Prince, his hand brushed leather.
A journal.
Its cover was softened by touch, edges worn smooth. When Taehyung opened it, his breath caught. The pages were filled with a hand both elegant and alive, each line tilted like it leaned forward to tell him a secret.
The entries weren’t confessions or reminders. They were fragments tiny, precise moments caught in ink.
The way sunlight falls through stained glass like quiet confessions. The man in section 3B who always whispers thank you before closing a book. The sound of rain when it first greets the old windows.
Taehyung smiled faintly. Whoever wrote this didn’t just see the world they listened to it.
At the back cover, in smaller script, was an inscription:
For the keeper of beautiful moments—may you find yours. — E
-×-×-
The journal stayed with him. He carried it through the aisles as he shelved returns, slipped it under the circulation desk like a secret. On quiet afternoons, he’d read until the words felt as if they had been written for him.
One golden evening, when the library was hushed and glowing with dust-mote light, Taehyung gave in. He turned to a blank page and, with his rounded scrawl, wrote:
The way mystery can make even familiar places feel like countries waiting to be discovered.
He hesitated, pen poised, then added:
To E—Your words make this place feel alive in ways I can’t explain. Thank you for helping me see the magic. — T
He left the journal on the returns desk.
By the next day, it was gone.
On Friday, it returned.
The feeling when someone understands the language of your thoughts. Like realizing you aren’t alone in a place you thought was only yours. — E
P.S. — Thank you for writing back.
Taehyung laughed softly, head falling to his arms. His smile refused to leave all day.
-×-×-
Their conversation grew. E confessed he loved watching the exact moment someone realized this was the book they didn’t know they were looking for. Taehyung admitted he sometimes rearranged displays so love stories would find lonely readers.
Their questions lingered in the margins: Do you think courage is something we practice or discover? What’s the difference between being alone and being solitary? If you could ask the library one question, what would it be?
Each answer stitched something invisible between them.
-×-×-
Three months later, Taehyung turned a page and froze.
The handwriting was darker, pressed hard, as if written quickly, almost against caution.
I think I’m falling in love with someone I’ve never met. Is that possible? Or am I just in love with the idea of being understood? — E
Taehyung’s pulse jumped. His hands shook, but his pen moved before doubt could intervene.
I think understanding someone might be the deepest way of meeting them. I think I’m falling too. — T
P.S. — Coffee tomorrow? Section 3B, noon. I’ll wear something blue.
-×-×-
The next morning, Taehyung arrived early, sweater the color of twilight pulled over his shoulders. He sat in section 3B, the journal in his lap, his palms damp with nerves.
At noon, footsteps echoed between shelves.
A boy appeared, tall, in a navy button-down. Black hair, soft eyes that darted, then landed on him on the journal and warmed. Ink stains marked his fingers like proof.
“Taehyung?” His voice was low, hesitant, achingly familiar.
Taehyung’s lips parted. He already knew.
“E.”
The boy’s mouth curved into a smile that lit his whole face. “Jungkook.”
-×-×-
They talked until closing, then over steaming bowls of ramen, then again the next morning with coffee cooling between them. Jungkook told him he worked at the art museum across the street, sketching here during lunch breaks for years. Taehyung realized he must have walked past him dozens of times, maybe even brushed shoulders, without ever truly seeing.
“Funny,” Jungkook murmured one evening, turning the journal in his hands, “I lost this the same day I told myself I should finally talk to the librarian who seemed to be having conversations with books.”
Taehyung laughed, nudging him. “And I found it the same day I wished someone would understand why I love this place so much.”
They kept the journal, but now the pages filled with the story they were writing together.
On the day they moved into their first apartment, Taehyung scrawled across a final page:
Turns out the best love stories aren’t the ones you read. They’re the ones you write together, one beautiful moment at a time.
And in the library where it all began, the lost and found box still sometimes held new journals. Small gifts waiting for the next pair of hearts to discover that sometimes the most precious things we lose are exactly what help us find love.
