It was strange, how her voice saying his name kept echoing in his mind.
"Sharon."
No one called him that. It was always "James" or "hey, art boy" or nothing at all, people talking around him instead of to him. But when she said it, it didn't sound like a name. It sounded like something soft, like the morning sunlight slipping across his sketchbook pages.
A few days later, he found himself in the library again, seated at the corner table by the window, sketching the way the leaves danced outside. He didn't notice her approach until her laughter floated beside him, until a gentle knock on the table made him look up.
"Hey, Sharon," she said, that warm smile pulling at the edges of her lips, and he felt the world pause.
She sat across from him without asking, dropping her books with a small thud, unbothered by the hush of the library. She began to scribble notes with her colorful pens, highlighters lined up neatly, her brows furrowed in concentration. But every now and then, she would glance up at him with a small grin, as if she knew he was watching.
"Is it okay if I sit here?" she asked after a few minutes, a playful glint in her eyes, as if she already knew the answer.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice soft, but something in it felt new, like it belonged to the version of himself he was only now discovering.
She noticed the sketchbook and leaned forward. "What are you drawing?"
He hesitated, then turned it around, showing her the page: the tree outside, the scattered sunlight, a figure leaning by the window with headphones on—her, without her even knowing.
"That's me," she whispered, eyes widening, her fingers brushing the edge of the page.
"Yeah," he said, looking at her, feeling braver under the soft library light. "Star."
She looked up, eyes wide. "What did you call me?"
He felt heat rush to his cheeks, but he didn't look away this time. "Star. You… you remind me of one."
She blinked, a soft, quiet smile blooming on her lips, one that made him want to draw her again and again until he got it right.
In that silent library corner, with books between them and the world moving gently outside, Pearl and Sharon shared a moment that felt like the start of something neither of them could name yet—something quiet, warm, and alive, like the first breath before a sunrise.