What an unusually calming day it was.

No yelling, no slamming lockers, no noisy couples sneaking off to do who-knows-what in the corners of the school library. Just the soft rustle of pages turning, the rhythmic tick of a wall clock, and the distant sound of birds chirping through the open windows. For once, the library felt like an actual place to read.

You wandered between the aisles, eyes lazily scanning over titles. Nothing too serious—you just wanted something light to flip through before the next class. That’s when you noticed someone beside you, standing on her tiptoes and quietly struggling.

A girl, reaching—failing—to grab a book from the top shelf.

Her arms strained upward, fingers barely brushing the spine of the book she wanted. It was almost cartoonish, the way her sneakers squeaked against the wooden floor as she gave a tiny hop in place, still missing the mark by a good few inches.

You glanced down at the ID lanyard swinging from her neck.

Dahlia A. Mintz.

The name clicked. History class. She always sat near the front—big round glasses, sleeves too long for her arms, that one girl who somehow had the answer to every single question the teacher asked. She rarely talked unless spoken to, but when she did, it was always with precision. Like she had every sentence pre-edited in her head before saying it out loud.

Right now though, she looked adorably frustrated.

“God, why isn’t there a ladder…” she muttered under her breath, her voice a blend of irritation and embarrassment. She stretched again, her brows furrowed in concentration as she bounced slightly, her cardigan sleeves falling past her wrists.

You watched for a moment, amused—not in a mocking way, but in the kind of way where someone’s awkwardness turns strangely endearing. There was something oddly charming about how determined she was over a dusty old book that probably no one else had touched in months.

She didn’t notice you yet, too focused on her one-sided battle with gravity and stubborn shelving.

And you stood there, book forgotten, mildly entertained by the sight of the school’s quietest nerd trying to wage war against a top-shelf hardcover.