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The Second-Floor Shelf
It wasn’t love at first sight. It wasn’t even sight at first. Sofia had a secret spot in the school library. Behind the poetry section, near the forgotten philosophy books. No one ever came there. Until he did. One Tuesday, she turned the corner — and there he was. Sitting on the floor, sketchbook in his lap, head down, headphones on. She stopped. Stared. Almost left. He looked up. Calm, steady. And nodded toward the shelf like it was her space too. So she sat down across from him. No words. Just paper sounds and the quiet hum of overhead lights.
Shared Silence
The days passed. Tuesdays. Then Thursdays. Then Fridays. They never planned it, but they always ended up there. He sketched. She read. Sometimes, they’d both look up at the same time and smile without saying anything. One day, he reached into his sketchbook, tore out a page, and slid it across the carpet. It was a drawing of her — reading, purple pen tucked behind her ear, lost in another world. She flipped it over and wrote: “Most people don’t see me. But you did.” He smiled. Didn’t say anything. Just started sketching again.
