Hushed By Librarian

Burdened by the weight of my heart, laden with the coquettish moments we once shared, and weariness lingering on the edges of my eyes from sleepless nights, I traversed the bustling corridor resonating with the joyous sounds of students. Navigating my way towards the library, I deliberately avoided any interactions with fellow passersby. Upon reaching the mirrored doors of the library, a wave of tranquility greeted me as I stepped inside.

Within the library's confines, heads were bowed over books, each individual engrossed in their chosen literary realms. Some diligently highlighted lines on the pages, while others swiftly skimmed through the text. Although not inherently a bibliophile, I found solace in the rustic aroma of books and the serendipity that surrounded the library. Strangely, I began to associate the scent of books with her presence.

Amidst the semi-darkness, illuminated by the warm, yellow glow of the lamp positioned at the center of a table, I leaned in and inhaled deeply, as if her essence lay before me on an altar. With each breath, it felt as though I was intoxicated by her memory, enveloped in the ambiance of the library's embrace.

As my fingers traced the titles etched into the ledges of the books, I felt the contours of her form, soft and firm, delicate and perfectly embossed on the covers. Retrieving a weighty tome bound in rich leather detailing the history of medical science, I gravitated towards an unoccupied table, eager to immerse myself in its pages. Adjusting to new faces had never been a challenge for me, but since her departure, I found myself hesitating before embracing openness with others.

Haunted by the echoes of heartbreak, I developed a preference for solitude, deliberately steering clear of interpersonal engagements. It had been two weeks since her absence, and I had successfully cultivated a buffer zone between myself and the surrounding world.

With purpose, I approached a vacant table, extracted a chair, and settled into its embrace. The library's hush enveloped me, occasionally disrupted by the subdued whispers of students engaged in earnest conversations. As I perused the pages of the hefty volume, I located the marker denoting my previous day's reading.

The subject of the history of medical sciences held an enduring fascination for me. The more I delved into its depths, extracting knowledge like water from a well, the more captivated I became by the intricate design of human existence— a testament to the divine craftsmanship. A devout admirer of nature, I had spent my life observing its myriad facets, contemplating the interplay of essential characteristics between nature and humanity. I marveled at the correlations and distinctions, noting how nature responded to human cruelty with an efficiency that mirrored or surpassed it. In the symbiotic dance of their coexistence, harmony could thrive, yet when set against each other, their destructive potential intensified exponentially.

Immersed in contemplation, I found profound allure in observing nature and dissecting the intricacies of human behavior. It struck me that, beneath the surface, they weren't distinct entities; rather, they shared a fundamental essence with subtle variations.

Lost in my musings while perusing the text, my introspective reverie was gently shattered by a delicate touch on my shoulder. It felt as though an ethereal being, descended from celestial realms, graced my side and placed a tender hand on my shoulder.

"Hey," a voice murmured from behind, prompting me to turn and behold the sight of the most exquisite and fragile creature ever fashioned by the hands of God. My gaze fixated on those luminescent pearls that adorned her mouth, radiating like stars in the subdued light of the room.

"Hey," I whispered in response, utterly captivated by her beauty.

"May I join you?" she inquired, her tone polite and soft.

Meeting her eyes, I noticed one arm cradling a stack of books against her chest, the burden apparent in the subtle strain on her arms. Her gaze was fixed upon me, as if eagerly anticipating my consent to place the books on the table.

"Okay," I uttered, choosing brevity over a more affirmative response. In this moment, my mind and heart waged a silent war, one urging me to relish her presence beside me, while the other hesitated, drawing from past experiences.

"Does that 'okay' mean I have your permission?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmm," I hummed, caught in the internal conflict, torn between the desire to let her stay and the instinct to guard against potential heartache.

"Well... Thanks!" she expressed with a smile, maneuvering around the table to relieve herself of the burden of books. As she adeptly arranged the chairs and settled into one, my gaze involuntarily trailed her every movement until she tilted her head upward, fixing me with a questioning stare that prompted me to shift my focus back to my book.

A gentle breeze, infused with the comforting scent of books, wafted our way, carrying with it a subtle fruity fragrance that emanated from her. Determinedly fixing my eyes on the page, I couldn't help but catch glimpses of her through the periphery of my vision.

"What are you reading?" she inquired, breaking the silence.

Lifting my head, I responded, "History of medical sciences."

"Oh, that's an interesting book. It gives you profound insights into the field you're studying in the classrooms," she remarked with enthusiasm.

"Well, yeah," I agreed, appreciating the shared sentiment.

"In which semester?" she further inquired.

"First year," I replied.

"Hey, junior," she said, extending her hand toward me with a warm smile. "I'm in the second semester."

"That's great! It means I can bother you for help!" I remarked with a smirk.

"Yeah, sure!" she responded, reciprocating the gesture as we shook hands, the promise of camaraderie lingering in the air. As she continued to speak in hushed tones, sharing insights into the nuances of the academic journey, she highlighted the transitional nature of the first semester, describing it as a foundation-laying phase with introductory knowledge. Her words painted a picture of the impending challenges awaiting in the second semester, marking the true commencement of the academic adventure.

While she spoke, my eyes roamed over every contour of her face as if deciphering a map leading to some hidden treasure. I sought clues in the subtle details — from her forehead to her cheeks, the bridge of her nose to the tip, the gracefully curved jawline, the roundly pointed chin, and the parted lips that opened a gateway to an enchanting world.

Lost in the labyrinth of my thoughts, I surrendered to the allure of her presence, momentarily forgetting my past, my present, and the world surrounding us. I absentmindedly kept shaking the hand that was entwined with hers, my eyes steadfastly fixed on her countenance.

"My hand," she said a bit louder, breaking through the cocoon of my thoughts.

The librarian's hush and her gentle reminder snapped me back to reality. "Oh, so-rr-y," I stammered, immediately releasing her hand. I lowered my gaze, contrite for our momentary lapse into louder conversation, as the librarian cast a disapproving glance in our direction.