The college campus was a different kind of jungle. Larger, louder, and more indifferent than high school ever was. Here, I wasn't "Weeds," I was just invisible, and that was a significant upgrade. I moved through the crowds like a ghost, the chatter about parties and professors and future majors a foreign language I had no interest in learning.
My brother's graduation gift, a sleek silver bicycle, was my escape pod. On my first day, I rode it straight to the public library a few blocks from campus, a sanctuary I'd scouted online. It was older than the university library, smelling of dust and aged paper instead of new carpet and anxiety. It was perfect.
That first week, I followed my routine with military precision: go to class, take notes, avoid eye contact, ride to the library. I found my spot—a secluded corner in the non-fiction section, shielded by a tall shelf of books on ancient history, my favorite subject. It was my island within the sanctuary.
But on Thursday, the routine cracked. Bored of the same texts, my eyes wandered and landed on a splash of color in the fiction aisle. A romance novel. The cover was cheesy, a couple locked in a dramatic embrace, but something about it called to the deep, unacknowledged loneliness in me. I glanced around, ensuring no one was watching, and snatched it from the shelf.
Back in my corner, I fell into the story. It was predictable and full of melodrama, but I was starved for it. A silly, unconscious smile touched my lips as I lived vicariously through the characters' grand passions and easy conversations. I was so absorbed I lost track of time, and had to leave the book there, hidden behind a large atlas, promising myself I'd return.
The next day, I went straight to my corner, my heart beating with a strange, eager anticipation. But the book was gone.
Panic, sharp and ridiculous, flared in my chest. I scanned the nearby tables. Nothing. I approached the librarian, an older woman with kind eyes behind thick glasses.
"Excuse me," I mumbled, my voice rusty from disuse. "There was a book... right over there. A romance novel?"
The librarian smiled and pointed a finger towards my corner. "The young lady over there has it."
My eyes followed her gesture. And there she was.
A girl was sitting in my chair, tucked into my corner. She was slender, almost fragile-looking, with pale skin that seemed to glow under the warm library light. Her hair was a dark curtain she used to shield her face as she read. But it was the book in her hands that held my gaze. It was my book.
A conflict raged inside me. Should I leave? Should I ask? My social anxiety screamed at me to abort the mission. But the desire to get back to that story, to that feeling, was stronger.
I moved like a nervous ghost, taking a seat at a table nearby. I pretended to read a random book I'd grabbed from a cart, but my entire focus was on her. I could see she was reading secretly too, her body angled away from the open room, just as I had done.
Just ask. It's your book. Well, it's the library's book. But you had it first.
My palms were sweating. I took a deep breath, stood up, and walked over before I could lose my nerve.
"Hello..." I stammered.
She didn't look up.
"I... I see you're reading... I was reading that too... It's... it's really good."
Finally, she glanced up. Her eyes were a startling shade of light brown, almost amber, and they were wide with alarm. For a second, we just stared at each other. Then, without a word, she snapped the book shut, hugged it to her chest, and hurried away, disappearing between the bookshelves.
I stood there, frozen in a state of complete humiliation. My face burned. As I turned to slink back to my seat, my eyes fell on the book I had randomly picked up from the cart to use as a prop.
The title stared back at me, mockingly: "Top Pickup Lines: How to Win Any Heart."
A cold wave of horror washed over me. She didn't think I was a fellow book-lover. She thought I was using the cheesiest, most cliché line in human history.
I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. The library no longer felt like a sanctuary. It felt like a crime scene where my dignity had just been murdered.
I had to get out of there. And I vowed, right then and never to return to that section again.