The university library always felt like a sanctuary to Suzy. The hushed whispers, the faint scent of old paper, and the occasional clink of a coffee cup created a comforting cocoon. She liked to sit at the same table by the window, where the natural light cast a soft glow on her notebook.
That afternoon, however, she had barely written a sentence. Her pen rested against her lip as she gazed out at the snow-covered campus. The branches of the bare trees swayed in the wind, their movements hypnotic.
Suzy was startled out of her thoughts by the scrape of a chair being pulled out across from her. She glanced up, surprised to see someone sitting down.
"Is this seat taken?"
The words came after the fact, spoken with an easy confidence that suggested the answer didn't really matter.
Suzy shook her head, her voice catching in her throat. "No, it's fine."
The girl sitting across from her smiled—a bright, open expression that made Suzy feel a bit breathless. Her dark ponytail was tied loosely, strands falling around her face in a way that looked effortlessly stylish. She wore a gray scarf wrapped snugly around her neck, and her cheeks were rosy from the cold outside.
"Thanks. It's packed today," the girl said, gesturing vaguely at the scattered students and researchers. She set down her coffee cup, the cardboard sleeve slightly crumpled, and opened a laptop.
Suzy nodded silently, her eyes lingering on the girl for a moment too long before returning to her blank notebook.
Minutes passed in silence, but Suzy found it impossible to focus. She could feel the girl's presence like a warm beacon. The gentle tap of her fingers on the keyboard, the occasional quiet hum of a melody Suzy couldn't quite place—it was all strangely distracting.
Finally, the girl glanced up and caught Suzy staring.
"Writer's block?" she asked, her voice playful but kind.
Suzy blinked, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Oh, um… sort of."
The girl tilted her head, her curiosity evident. "What are you working on?"
"Just… some writing," Suzy mumbled, lowering her gaze to her notebook.
"Can I see?"
Suzy hesitated. She never showed her work to anyone. But there was something disarming about the girl's smile, something that made her feel like she wouldn't judge too harshly.
"Okay," Suzy said quietly, sliding the notebook across the table.
The girl read silently, her expression thoughtful. The sound of the world around them faded as Suzy watched her, waiting for a reaction.
When the girl finally looked up, her eyes were shining. "This is amazing," she said, her voice filled with genuine admiration. "You're really talented."
Suzy blinked, caught off guard. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," the girl said, sliding the notebook back. "Your writing feels so real, like it's coming straight from the heart."
Suzy felt a small smile tug at her lips—a rare, genuine smile that she hadn't realized she was capable of.
"I'm Jessica, by the way," the girl said, holding out her hand.
"Suzy," she replied, shaking it. Jessica's grip was firm and warm.
"Well, Suzy, if you ever want another opinion, I'd love to read more of your work." Jessica pulled a piece of paper from her bag and scribbled something on it. "Here's my number. Don't be a stranger."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving behind the faint scent of coffee and a slip of paper with her loopy handwriting.
Suzy stared at the numbers for a long moment, her heart fluttering. She didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, it felt like something new and exciting was beginning.
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Suzy's perspective:
The library was my haven. It wasn't just a place to study—it was a space where the world grew quiet, and my thoughts felt manageable. That afternoon, I claimed my usual table by the window, spreading out my notebook and pens like I was preparing for battle. But instead of writing, I just stared at the blank page.
I tried to focus, really, I did. But outside, the snow fell in lazy spirals, and the world looked so peaceful that I couldn't help but get lost in it. My pen hovered over the paper, useless. The ideas in my head felt too tangled, too messy to bring to life.
Then I heard it—the scrape of a chair being pulled out across from me.
"Is this seat taken?"
I blinked, startled, and looked up. She was already sitting down, her coffee cup in one hand, a laptop bag slung over her shoulder. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her scarf looked soft enough to touch.
I cleared my throat. "No, it's fine."
"Thanks," she said with an easy smile. "It's packed today."
I nodded, though I hadn't noticed. My eyes drifted back to my notebook, but I could feel her presence like a warm hum. She opened her laptop, the soft click of keys breaking the silence.
I tried to write again, but my thoughts kept circling back to her. The rhythmic tapping of her fingers, the occasional way she tucked her hair behind her ear—it was all so distracting.
"Writer's block?" Her voice was playful, breaking the quiet between us.
I froze, glancing up at her. She had caught me staring. "Oh, um… sort of," I mumbled, my cheeks burning.
"What are you working on?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Just… some writing."
Her eyes lit up, and I immediately regretted my answer. "Can I see?"
I hesitated. Sharing my writing felt like letting someone read my diary—too personal, too raw. But there was something in her expression, a kindness that made it hard to say no.
"Okay," I said softly, sliding my notebook across the table.
She read in silence, her eyes scanning the page with an intensity that made my stomach twist. I tried to act casual, sipping my now-cold tea, but my heart raced with every second that passed.
When she finally looked up, her smile was radiant. "This is amazing," she said, her voice filled with warmth.
I blinked. "You think so?"
"Absolutely. Your writing feels so real, like it's coming straight from the heart."
Her words hit me like a gust of wind, unexpected and overwhelming. For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
"Thank you," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm Jessica, by the way," she said, holding out her hand.
"Suzy," I replied, shaking it carefully. Her hand was warm, her grip firm but gentle.
"Well, Suzy, if you ever want another opinion, I'd love to read more of your work." She pulled a piece of paper from her bag, scribbled something on it, and slid it across the table. "Here's my number. Don't be a stranger."
And just like that, she was gone.
I sat there for a long time, staring at the numbers she'd left behind. My chest felt tight, my heart fluttering in a way I couldn't quite explain.
For the first time in what felt like forever, the blank page in front of me didn't feel so daunting.
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Jessica's perspective :
I hadn't planned on stopping at the library that day. My original plan was simple: grab a coffee, head home, and procrastinate the evening away. But the café was too noisy, and the thought of staring at my apartment walls didn't feel appealing. So, on a whim, I ended up at the library.
The first thing I noticed when I walked in was her.
She was sitting by the window, her face lit softly by the winter sun. Her pen hovered over a notebook, and she looked completely lost in thought. There was something about her—quiet, focused, and yet a little distant, like she was trying to wrestle with a storm inside her head.
Before I even realized it, I was walking toward her.
"Is this seat taken?" I asked, already pulling out the chair.
She looked up, startled. Her eyes were wide, and for a split second, she looked like she might tell me to leave. Instead, she shook her head. "No, it's fine."
I smiled and sat down, setting my coffee cup on the table. "Thanks. It's packed today," I said, though I barely glanced at the room.
She gave a small nod and went back to her notebook. I opened my laptop, but my attention kept drifting to her. The way she stared at the page like it held the answer to a question she was too scared to ask. The way her pen tapped the edge of the table, a rhythm that felt almost musical.
I couldn't help myself. "Writer's block?" I asked, breaking the silence.
She blinked, looking up at me. "Oh, um… sort of," she mumbled, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.
"What are you working on?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.
"Just… some writing."
I could see her hesitation, the way her fingers gripped the edge of the notebook like it was a shield. "Can I see?" I asked gently.
For a moment, I thought she might say no. But then, slowly, she slid the notebook across the table.
Her handwriting was neat, precise, and the words—God, the words. They pulled me in immediately. There was a rawness to her writing, a quiet vulnerability that made it impossible to stop reading.
When I finally looked up, her eyes were watching me, nervous and expectant.
"This is amazing," I said, my voice genuine.
Her lips parted slightly, and she blinked. "You think so?"
"Absolutely," I said, sliding the notebook back to her. "Your writing feels so real, like it's coming straight from the heart. You've got a gift, Suzy."
Her name slipped out naturally, though she hadn't introduced herself yet. I could see the tension leave her shoulders, replaced by a small, tentative smile.
"I'm Jessica, by the way," I said, holding out my hand.
"Suzy," she replied, her voice soft as she shook my hand. Her grip was light, almost hesitant, but I could feel the warmth of her skin.
"Well, Suzy, if you ever want another opinion, I'd love to read more of your work." I reached into my bag, grabbed a scrap of paper, and wrote down my number. "Don't be a stranger," I added, sliding it toward her.
I didn't linger after that. Something told me she needed a moment to process. But as I walked out of the library, I glanced back to see her staring at the paper, her fingers tracing the edges.
For the rest of the day, I couldn't stop thinking about her. The way her writing had moved me, the way her smile felt like a rare gift.
I didn't know what would happen next, but I hoped I'd hear from her soon.