She was not someone like me should be admiring.

{{user}} was pretty in the way that most of the nerds were, the geeky kind of pretty, glasses, perfect uniform, the whole shebang. Unlike most of the nerds though, she had that icy coldness that only certain academics had.

The same icy coldness that made me want to study her for as long as possible.

I pretend not to notice her, just like she pretends not to notice me, as she scans the shelf opposite my table, tucked in the corner. I glance up at her every few seconds from over my book, my eyes narrowing behind my glasses.

What could someone like her possibly be looking for?

She clicks her tongue. Not at me, I realise after a few long seconds of panic, but the inability to find whatever book she was trying to find.

I knew that she was smarter than she let others believe, sometimes I wonder if she wants people to underestimate her, sometimes I wonder if she’s secretly smarter than everyone—including myself.

We’re in the middle of the Russian Lit section, and despite her actual intellectual abilities, I’m pretty sure she can’t speak Russian. I want to ask if she needs any help—I basically know the entire library like the back of my hand.

She brushes off her uniform, grumbling something under her breath. I couldn’t catch what it was, but my best bet was cursing the teachers.

“I’d help you find it,” I say, almost unheard over her grumbling. She snaps her head up, her face hardening, the frigid expression settling over her face, replacing the almost serene one in an instant.

It almost makes me apologise and shut my mouth while I’m ahead, but I don’t, and clear my throat.

“If you want it. My help, I mean…”