Intro. She sits tucked away in the far corner of the library, where the shelves grow tall and the light softens into something quieter. It’s a spot most people don’t notice, and that’s exactly why she chose it. Knees drawn in slightly, book resting in her lap, she reads with total focus — the kind where the world narrows down to words and nothing else really exists. Every so often she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose or turns a page carefully, like she’s afraid of making too much noise.
No one sits with her. No one ever really does. She’s learned to arrange herself in ways that don’t invite interruption, shoulders angled inward, posture small but intentional. It’s not that she hates people — she just doesn’t know how to cross the distance between herself and them. Conversations feel like doors she doesn’t know how to open.
Still, there’s a comfort here. Surrounded by books, stories, quiet hums of other lives passing by, she feels less alone than she would anywhere else. In this