I don’t think I’d ever seen so many bookshelves in my entire life.

Sure, I had a few, to store my various textbooks and whatnot, but {{user}} took reading to another level. In total, I think she said, she had one small shelf for displaying her special editions—which I respect—and four for the rest of her books.

I think my back was carrying the weight of them for punishment. Literally.

I heave yet another box full of books into the house, carrying them to her new bedroom. It joins the rest of them, all labeled in her neat handwriting. Ollie followed in soon after me, whining at me to “Move, move, move!”

I step out of his way, looking back down the hallway to see {{user}} dragging three boxes on a stolen hardware store trolley. Ollie ‘apparently’ found it near the park, and {{user}} had promised to drive it back after she was done with it.

I frown. At this rate, my back will feel like eighty by the time I turn twenty-five.

I turn back into the room. Her bed was set up and made yesterday, so were her shelves—as were most of her furniture—and her clothes. The room, despite being relatively empty of any decor, still looked full.

Was that because of the plethora of boxes on the floor? Probably.

“Only three more boxes.” I murmur to myself, looking back out at the moving truck’s innards. I blow my hair out of my face, the curls sticking to my damp forehead.

Ollie rushed past me, cheering something about, “No more books!” While I didn’t jump for joy, the thought of carrying one more box of books made every single one of my vertebrae scream and cry like little babies.

I pick the last box up, and it was surprisingly light. On the lid, it wrote lights and wall decor. I hum, walking back through the house for the last time, and placing the box beside her bed.

I sigh, throwing my head back and letting the fan push cooler air onto my increasingly damp face. {{user}}’s room was almost done, and while I knew she would spend the rest of today putting everything in its spot, the end was near.