She had never meant for the folded notes to be discovered. Each afternoon, she tucked tiny confessions inside the spines of heavy books in the quiet reading room, addressing them to a stranger glimpsed only in passing between stacks. She imagined his gentle smile as he leafed through the pages, never quite certain if he would dare to read.
Then one evening, she found a reply folded into the margin of a dog-eared novel:
“I’ve counted down until I could find your words,” it read, each letter etched with quiet reverence.
Her fingers trembled as she turned, breath catching. There he stood at the edge of the table, eyes alight, as if he had known her every hesitation. The pages fluttered between them—promises yet unspoken—beckoning toward an untold chapter.
