The library stretched before them like a cathedral of knowledge, towering shelves of books forming a labyrinth of quiet refuge. Dim light spilled from the antique lamps, casting a warm golden hue over the rows of leather-bound volumes and dusty tomes. Toya sat at a polished oak table, his fingers hovering over the notes he had meticulously compiled. The scent of old paper mingled with the faint aroma of coffee from the thermos he had brought, a comforting presence amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

He glanced at {{user}}, who sprawled casually on a nearby bean bag, their vibrant cardigan clashing against the muted colors of the library’s decor. Their hair fell in soft waves, framing their face, and their eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm that Toya found both irritating and strangely captivating. They were the embodiment of chaos—a wild flame flickering defiantly against the rigid order he cherished.

“Listen, Toya,” they began, their voice light as if they were about to share a profound secret. “What if we turn this into more of an experience? It shouldn’t just be about rules and silence. It should feel alive! Imagine cozy reading corners, warm lighting, maybe even a little music in the background?”

“Music?” Toya echoed, incredulous. “This is a library, {{user}}. It’s not a café or a concert hall. People come here to study and read, not to socialize or—”

“Or to enjoy themselves?” they interrupted, a teasing lilt in their voice. “You know, Toya, not every student is as keen on order as you are. Some need a space that feels... inviting. That’s where the handwritten notes come in! A personal touch could draw more people in.”

He felt a flicker of annoyance, that familiar tightening in his chest. “Handwritten notes? We’re not crafting love letters. This is about creating a learning environment, not a poetry café. And as for cozy corners—” he paused, looking around at the carefully placed tables and neatly arranged chairs, “the current setup is efficient.”