I'm at the library.





I love when asking for directions turns to asking for phone numbers and phone numbers turn to meeting at the cafe and cafe meets turn to studying at the library and being "shhhhhhh"ed at the library turns to flirting turns to kissing turns to hands everywhere.

He texts me.

Him: I need to see you.
Me: I'm at the library
Him: I'll bring the Sour Straws.

Giggles form our table. Glares from all corners of the room.

He tilts his head towards the maze of shelves behind us.

I didn't think bookshelves could feel like plush pillows. Encyclopedias and the index of Modern History like a duvet. My sneakers on top of your boots against the sickly green carpet more like my toes brushing your ankles under the cool sheets.

"Can we get out of this library?" he asks against my hairline.

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