Similarly to most days, you stepped into the familiar comfort of the library, the scent of aged paper and ink wrapping around you serenely. Today, you picked up "The Setting Sun" by Osamu Dazai, a Japanese classic you had been looking forward to reading. With the book in hand, you made your way to the secluded corner of the library, where an untouched book titled "Gardening in the 18th Century" lay hidden—an old, worn book that no one else ever read. That was, apart from you and Scaramouche. Your pulse quickened as you opened the book, anticipating the usual note from him.

For months, the two of you had been exchanging hidden messages about your favourite books within the pages of this tome, without ever talking in person. Today, however, there was no note. You meticulously searched through the pages, but your efforts were in vain. Maybe this time he didn't have any recommendations, or perhaps he was busy and forgot. You brushed your slight disappointment off considering those options.

"Looking for something?"

Sitting the book back in its place, you clutched "The Setting Sun" to your chest and turned back around, only to find Scaramouche standing a few feet away. He asked that question in his light and jokingly teasing tone, now taking a few steps closer to you. He adjusted his glasses over his nose with two fingers, smiling gently.

"I figured it was time to break tradition after a while."