The library smelled like dust and forgotten thoughts. Old books lined the shelves, their spines faded and cracked. It was Liana’s favorite place in the entire school—quiet, calm, predictable. She hadn’t had to share it with anyone before.
Until now.
Kieran Wolfe strolled in ten minutes late, looking like he belonged more in a tattoo shop than a school library. His black hoodie was pulled halfway over his head, earbuds dangling from one ear. His sketchbook was under one arm, half-covered in pen scribbles.
“Nice of you to show up,” Liana said without looking up from her notebook.
“You sound surprised I came at all,” he said, dropping into the seat across from her.
“I am.”
He smirked. “Starting to think you like me, Sunshine.”
“Starting to think you like hearing yourself talk.”
He laughed, loud enough for the librarian to glare over the edge of her glasses.
Liana rolled her eyes. “We have to choose a topic.”
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze fixed on her face. “How the past shapes the present. What a cheerful theme.”
She paused. “Do you want to talk about something personal? Or should we just stick to historical stuff?”
“Historical sounds safer,” he said, though his tone shifted—slightly duller, guarded.
“Okay,” she said softly, flipping to a clean page. “We could do childhood trauma through fairy tales.”
He blinked. “That’s your idea of ‘safe’?”
She shrugged. “Fairy tales were originally dark stories meant to warn children. It shows how adults shaped young minds with fear.”
Kieran stared at her for a second longer than necessary.
“You surprise me,” he said finally.
“Is that a good thing?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
They spent the next hour bouncing ideas back and forth. Kieran was smarter than she expected—not that she’d thought he was dumb, but the way he picked up on themes and symbolism caught her off guard. His notebook, she realized, wasn’t for class. It was full of ink drawings—skulls, roses, a wolf howling at a broken moon.
“You draw,” she said, tilting her head. “A lot.”
He closed the notebook before she could see more. “Yeah.”
She sensed the wall go back up.
“You’re good,” she added, gently.
His jaw tightened like he didn’t know how to accept the compliment. “Thanks.”
They packed up when the bell rang. Neither moved quickly, like some invisible thread kept them anchored to the table.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asked, slipping her pen into her bag.
“Yeah,” he said. Then paused. “Hey, Liana?”
She turned. He’d never said her name before. It sounded softer on his lips, like he’d taken the edge out of it.
“You talk more when you’re not pretending you’re invisible.”
She didn’t smile. Not exactly.
But something about her face changed—like the sun had peeked through a cloud.
“And you’re not always a storm.”
He watched her walk away, unsure when her words had become the ones echoing in his head.
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