Niah's POV
It all kicked off with a wobbly ladder, an old bookshelf, and Niah's less-than-great life choices.
"Please don't die," Jules said flatly from behind the counter. "Maria will kill me if you fall while I'm on shift."
"I'm just reorganizing the top shelf," Niah insisted, swaying a bit. Maria claimed the old books were covered in dust. I'm just helping her out, right?"
"That ladder looks older than this place. I wouldn't trust it," Jules remarked, sipping her tea like she was watching some tragic documentary unfold.
Niah huffed, reaching higher, her fingers grazing the spine of a particularly stubborn, hefty book.
And that was, as usual, a very bad move.
The ladder first creaked, then it shifted. "Oh no—"
Suddenly, there was a sound like an ancient deity sighing in disapproval, and then—thud.
Books went flying, spilling down with dramatic intensity, and Niah braced herself for an inevitable crash on the floor.
But she didn't land on the ground; instead, she landed on someone.
A very tall, very solid, and a very annoyed someone.
Silence followed, the kind that comes after chaos. The kind that screams: You've made a huge mistake, and now fate is judging you.
Niah groaned and rolled off the person she had just knocked over.
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, scrambling to pick up the fallen books, flailing around like it was a fire drill. "I was just trying to help, and I might have damaged some historical articles and—OH NO IS THAT BLOOD—nope, it's just ink. Ink. It's good…We're all good."
A low voice interrupted her frantic rambling. "You talk... a lot."
Niah froze and looked up.
The guy was brushing off his coat as if he'd just emerged from a time warp of disappointment. His hair, messy from the fall, still managed to look annoyingly perfect. His jawline could cut glass, and his eyes were dark, sharp, and utterly unfazed; they were definitely judging her existence.
"You're—" Niah blinked, squinting hard. "You're that guy from the other day in the library. You just… vanished. Like a ghost returning a book."
"I don't vanish," he replied coolly. "I leave efficiently."
She gave him a pointed look and said, "You didn't even stick around for the replacement copy."
He glanced at the mess scattered around them. "Clearly."
She frowned, dramatically stacking the books. "You're really not the sunshine and rainbows type, are you?"
"I prefer quiet, functional people." He picked up an old book, dusted it off, and handed it to her. "You're neither."
"Wow, Okay Mr. Savage. Did you have sarcasm for breakfast, or is this just your personality?"
He didn't reply; instead, he simply turned to leave.
Niah blinked. "Wait. You're not going to tell me your name or anything? I mean, you just got buried under books. I feel like we should exchange names."
He paused at the door.
"Not today," he said flatly, and just like that, he was gone.
Jules, who was behind the counter walked over, applauding slowly. "Bravo. You've successfully assaulted a stranger with a history of fine bindings. Who was that guy anyway?"
Niah stared at the doorway, still trying to catch her breath.
"I have no clue," she muttered. "But he was… something."
Jules smirked. "He looked like a romantic villain. You know the type—dark coat, eyes that say, 'I have a tragic backstory but also a great bone structure.'"
Niah threw a book at her, but she couldn't help it.
She found herself thinking about him long after he vanished.
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