The Library Between Us

The library was unusually quiet that Tuesday afternoon, even for its usual tranquil charm. Lily, tucked away in her favorite corner by the large bay window, flipped through the yellowed pages of an old poetry book. The world outside was overcast, but she found warmth in the verses she loved.

The stillness was broken when a voice cleared behind her. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Startled, she looked up. A man stood there, holding a stack of books that teetered precariously. His dark sweater was dusted with flakes of snow, his glasses slightly fogged.

“Uh, no. Go ahead,” she said, motioning to the chair across from her.

“Thanks,” he replied, setting down his books with care.

Lily returned to her poetry, but she couldn’t help glancing at him. His brow furrowed as he flipped through an encyclopedia, jotting down notes with quick precision. There was something oddly endearing about his intensity.

“What are you working on?” she asked after a moment of hesitation.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s nothing interesting. Just research for a history article.”

“History can be fascinating,” she countered. “What’s the topic?”

He hesitated, then smiled. “Okay, you asked for it. It’s about the evolution of early printing presses.”

Lily leaned forward, intrigued. “That’s actually really cool. Books wouldn’t exist without them.”

His smile widened. “You’re the first person to say that without looking for the nearest exit.”

“I’m a bookworm,” she said, tapping her poetry collection. “I have a vested interest in their history.”

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding at her book.

She held it up. “Classic poetry. A little clichéd, maybe, but it’s comforting.”

“Cliché doesn’t make it less beautiful,” he said. “May I?”

He gestured to the book, and she slid it across the table. He thumbed through the pages, stopping at one.

“This one’s my favorite,” he said softly, reading aloud:

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

His voice was low and melodic, and Lily found herself leaning in.

“You’ve got good taste,” she said, impressed.

He handed the book back, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Thanks. I guess poetry’s a guilty pleasure of mine. Don’t tell the history crowd.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she said, grinning.

They spent the next two hours talking about everything—favorite books, worst reads, and the quirks of library life. Snow continued to fall outside, unnoticed by either of them.

As the librarian announced closing time, he hesitated. “I’ve really enjoyed this,” he admitted.

“Me too,” she said, smiling.

He reached into his bag, scribbling something on a scrap of paper. “If you ever want to discuss poetry or printing presses again…”

Lily took the paper, her heart doing a little flip at the neatly written name and number.

“I think I will,” she said, slipping it into her pocket.

As they walked out into the snowy evening, Lily couldn’t help but marvel at how unexpected connections had a way of writing their own poetry.