A Love Written in Secret

brushing the cracked spines of books that had outlived wars, heartbreaks, and generations. Some had no titles left on them at all, their covers faded to anonymous shades of brown and

re, someone might find them. Standing, she scanned the shelves nearby and picked a volume at random - Wanderings Beyond the Horizon - a traveler's journal from a forgotten age, its pages yellowed but still vivid with adventure. She tucked the letter between its pages, near the middle, where no casual reader would find it. There. Safe. Waiting. With a sigh, Elara brushed a strand of hair from her face and returned to her work, never noticing the pair of dark eyes watching her from across the room. Damien sat in a shadowed alcove, half-hidden by a crumbling column of philosophy texts. He wasn't spying - not exactly - but he'd been drawn to the sight of her. The girl with the ink-stained sweater and the look of someone who belonged more to stories than the world around her. He had seen her before, of course. The library was vast, but not infinite, and their paths often crossed like shy stars orbiting the same sky. Still, they'd never spoken. He doubted she even knew he existed. Damien returned his gaze to the notes spread across his table. His current project was a thick, dust-choked manuscript chronicling a minor king's obsession with immortality. It should have fascinated him. Once, it would have. But tonight, his mind wandered. He couldn't shake the look on her face as she wrote - the mix of sadness and hope. As if she were sending a message across some great, invisible sea. And for a moment, he wished it was meant for him. Hours slipped by unnoticed. The sky outside faded to deep navy, the first stars pricking holes in the dark. The grand hall of the library emptied, the occasional creak of the wood floors or the whisper of pages turning the only sounds left behind. Elara stood to stretch, her muscles stiff from sitting. She checked the old brass clock on the wall: nearly nine. She should go. But something kept her lingering, the way a child lingers at the edge of a fairytale forest, knowing they should turn back but un