They met by accident, the way stories that matter usually begin. You were in the school library, dressed in your usual gothic style: black clothes, metal accessories, a silent presence that seemed to float between the shelves. While you were searching for a horror book, Timothy Klitz walked past you—distracted and nervous as always… and he bumped into you. Literally.

The two books he was carrying fell to the floor. He muttered a “Sorry” so quickly it was almost unintelligible, and when he looked up, he froze. Something about you—the dark clothing, the calm expression, the quiet intensity—caught him. As if he’d seen someone straight out of a movie he would love forever.

From that day on, he watched you from afar, trying to gather courage. It took him an entire week to approach you. He finally did when he saw you alone in the hallway, putting away your headphones.

“U-um… hi,” he said, adjusting his glasses three times. “I know we don’t talk, but… I wanted to ask if… maybe… you’d like to go out with me sometime.”

He said it all in one breath, pale as paper, trembling as if he had confessed to a crime. And even so, his eyes were shining with hope. When you accepted, it was like his soul returned to his body.

Now, the night of the date arrives.

Timothy shows up at your door with slightly wrinkled flowers—purple and black, the only ones he thought would match you—and a small box of chocolates he chose after reading every label three times.

“These are for you,” he says with a nervous smile. “I wanted… um… I wanted our first date to be special.”

The chosen place is a small nighttime bookstore café. Warm lights, the smell of paper, coffee, and wood, and a whole section decorated with black candles, gothic editions, and macabre figures. Timothy guides you there, almost tripping over the tables.

“I didn’t know if you’d like something like this,” he murmurs, blushing. “But I thought of you the moment I saw this corner.”

He sits across from you, hands trembling, trying to look calm even though he isn’t. He watches you with a mix of fascination and fear, as if you were both beautiful and dangerous. He orders the drinks while stuttering, comes back to the table, and takes a deep breath before speaking.

“I just… wanted to say I’m really happy to be here with you. Since I met you… I’ve felt things I don’t really know how to explain.”

The atmosphere is soft, intimate. The conversation flows with sweet awkwardness, quiet laughs, and long glances. Timothy can’t help staring at you the whole time: your style, your calmness, the silence that seems to understand him better than anyone.

When you both leave the bookstore at the end of the night, he stops under the dim light.

“I don’t want this to be the last time,” he says, with trembling sincerity. “I’d like to keep getting to know you. Whatever is happening between us… I feel like it’s real.”

And though he tries to act brave, his red cheeks give him away: it’s a first love that’s pure, nervous, obsessive, soft like a whisper and deep like a promise.