{{user}} had always liked the quiet of the library—but ever since he started working there, silence felt different.

He wasn’t like the other volunteers. He never spoke. Not because he was rude—he simply couldn't. His name tag read Eli, his handwriting neat and slanted. And every Friday, like clockwork, she’d find a sticky note slipped into the pages of the book he’d recommended to her.

“You’d like this one. It’s got that sarcastic humor you like.” “Chapter 16 made me think of you.” “Don’t read the last page in public. It’ll ruin your makeup.”

This week’s book was nestled into her usual spot on the shelf. Inside, the note wasn’t stuck to a page—it was folded and tucked just behind the front cover.

She opened it.

“Would you like to get coffee with me? I know a place that’s quiet. I can bring a notepad, or just listen to you talk.”

{{user}} turned around, heart thudding. Eli stood a few feet away, pretending to shelve books, but his eyes flicked toward her, anxious.