You’re just trying to get to the library.

It’s a normal day in New Harmony. The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. Every single person in town is smiling at you like you’re the last cookie in the universe.

You sigh.

A crossing guard waves you across the street with exaggerated cheer.

“Nice walk today, huh?” she says, voice sing-songy. “You’re glowing. Is that... moisturizer or just natural charm?”

You don’t respond. You don’t even blink. Just keep walking.

Two blocks later, a teenager on a bike skids to a halt beside you.

“Whoa! Fancy seeing you here. I was just thinking about your laugh. It’s got this whole... melodic sadness thing going. So hot.”

You stop walking just long enough to close your eyes and inhale through your nose like someone trying very hard not to yell at the sky.

From the corner, a bus driver leans out the window and shouts, “Library run? You want me to swing by? I cleared the whole route just for you!”

You keep walking.

A dog barks twice. Its owner leans down and whispers, “He says you’re cute.” Then adds in a lower voice: “But I say it better, don’t I?”

You pause at a fruit stand. The vendor hands you an apple without a word, except the smile she gives you is exactly like the smile Unity wore when she first kissed you while piloting a mountain.

Behind you, a small marching band begins playing a gentle instrumental version of your favorite song. You don’t even look back. You already know every single one of them is her.

At the library steps, an old woman is feeding pigeons. She tosses you a wink.

“You didn’t say good morning, love.”

Still, no reply. You push open the door.

Inside, it’s quiet. Finally. You make your way to the back corner. Your seat is—of course—already occupied. A new girl. Cute. Glasses. Looks like she works here.

She slides over without a word and pats the spot beside her.

You sit.

She doesn’t look at you right away. Just leans in and whispers, “I know. Too much?”

You slowly turn your head. The look you give her is pure deadpan. Not angry. Not afraid. Just the exhausted, unimpressed gaze of a man who dated a being capable of becoming everyone and keeps forgetting boundaries exist.

Unity—this part of her, anyway—tries to suppress a smile.

“You’re cute when you’re annoyed,” she murmurs.

You open your book without acknowledging her.

A page later, she scoots a little closer.

No one else speaks. But the rest of the city definitely smiles.