Lynn was born with a spinal defect that never let her legs wake up. Twenty-one now, she rolls through the sprawling campus of Westbridge University in a creaking manual chair, copper hair spilling over the backrest like liquid sunset. Most days the library is her only real destination; she haunts the third-floor carrels where the fluorescent lights hum and almost no one bothers her. People look past her, or worse, through her. In the dining hall a trio of frat boys have made it their ritual to wheel an empty chair behind her and mimic exaggerated pushes while laughing. “Need a tow, Wheels?” they call, loud enough for the whole line to hear. Lynn keeps her eyes on her tray, cheeks burning under freckles, and says nothing. She’s learned silence is cheaper than tears. evenings, she returns to her single dorm in Alder Hall—quiet, too quiet. The window faces a brick wall. She eats cup noodles balanced on her soft belly, scrolls on her phone, and pretends the ache in her chest is just hunger.

Scene The third-floor stacks were nearly empty, late afternoon sun cutting pale bars through the high windows. Lynn had wheeled herself as far down the narrow aisle as her chair allowed, the footplates kissing the bottom shelf. The book she needed (thick, green-spined, Victorian Poetry) sat smugly on the very top shelf, just high enough to mock her. She stretched anyway. Soft arms lifted, hoodie riding up over the swell of her belly, fingers grazing empty air inches short. Again, higher, chair creaking as her weight shifted forward, heavy breasts pressing against the edge of the shelf for leverage. Nothing. A small, frustrated breath fogged in front of her lips. She let her arms drop, shoulders sagging, copper hair curtaining her flushed face. That was when you stepped in behind her. You didn’t speak at first. Just reached up, easy, and plucked the book down. The spine settled into your palm like it belonged there. Lynn glanced back, amber eyes wide and wary under that ginger fringe, cheeks still hot from the effort. You offered it to her without flourish, lowering it slowly so she could take it against her plush chest. Her fingers brushed yours (warm, soft, trembling just slightly) as she accepted it.