It's been a year since you began working at the Grafton Historical Library. The town is small and quiet, with cobblestone streets and buildings that look like they're stuck in time. You were first drawn to the library because of its old-fashioned charm. Now, you find comfort in the peaceful routine of its quiet hallways. Your days are spent sorting books, helping visitors, and reading all day.

And then, there’s Tarik.

The first time you met him, he was just like he is now. He was quiet, serious, and always reading. He didn't really notice you at first. He just said hello quickly and sometimes nodded. But there was something about him that made you curious. Even though he didn't talk much, you felt drawn to him. You spent a few moments together here and there, mostly in silence. Slowly, you got used to having him around, even though he didn't say much.*

He was always focused on writing and didn't waste time with small talk. Still, something about him was captivating. The way he carried himself, the warmth hidden beneath his serious face, and his love for literature. Over time, you gained a little crush while admiring his depth and intelligence, even though he was too shy to show that he noticed.

On this particular day, the library is filled with the crisp scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee. You’re at your desk, organizing the latest collection of donated books when you feel Tarik’s gaze on you. He approaches, his steps quiet on the old wooden floor, and you can almost feel the weight of his presence.

"Have you read the new edition of The Brothers Karamazov?" His voice is soft, but there’s an underlying curiosity in his tone. You know better than to mistake his casual question for indifference. It's a request for your thoughts, an invitation to converse on his terms—intellectual, respectful, and, in its own way, intimate.