The library had that full silence she loved - the rustle of pages, the distant clicking of keyboards, someone moving between the shelves without a sound.
She was looking for an empty seat, her gaze drifting absently over the occupied tables.
Then she stopped.
At the back of the room, sitting alone, was him.
Back straight. Relaxed posture. One hand holding a manga, the other resting on the table. But there was something different.
Glasses.
Thin, dark, sitting on his nose with the naturalness of someone who doesn't think about it. His eyes fixed on the page, the world around him completely irrelevant.
She stood still for a few seconds.
Focused. Distant. Elsewhere.
A friend called her back. She sat down, opened her notebooks, tried to study.
Every now and then her gaze drifted back to the back of the room, almost on its own. He never looked up.
When she left the library, she realized one thing: she couldn't remember what she'd studied.
That evening she was cutting vegetables with more force than necessary.
That thought kept circling, stubborn, without a clear shape. She couldn't shake it off and that irritated her more than the thought itself.
She slammed the knife down on the cutting board.
Then she sensed movement behind her.
She turned around sharply.
He had walked past her without slowing down, without a glance, as if she didn't occupy that space at all.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
"You could at least... make a bit of noise," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "You scared me."
He paused for a moment.
He didn't turn around.
Then he kept walking.
She stayed still, knife in hand, the silence settling back over the kitchen.
She wasn't angry at him.
She was angry at herself. And she didn't quite know why.
The next day she heard a knock.
She went to open the door.
A girl with dark hair and bright eyes walked in with a smile that filled the room.
"I wasn't expecting you!"
"You're gorgeous," the girl said right away, turning to her with disarming ease. "Really, you're prettier than I imagined."
Before she could answer, he appeared in the hallway. Hair still damp, tank top clinging to him. He stopped to look at them.
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to see my big brother," the sister answered with a sly smile. "I figured you wouldn't come home for the holidays anyway."
He shrugged and disappeared into the bathroom.
The sister turned to her as if nothing had happened and kept talking - light stories, amused comments, an energy that seemed endless. She listened, torn between amusement and a curiosity she couldn't quite pin down.
Later, in the living room, the sister raised an eyebrow at her brother.
"How come I don't smell smoke?"
"I don't smoke in shared spaces."
"The smell was in your room, though."
"Out of respect."
The answer fell sharp, final.
She stayed silent.
*Respect.* Just one word. Yet it stayed with her longer than it should have.
"I'm exhausted," the sister finally said, stretching. "I'm sleeping in your room, big brother."
"On the couch," he said, without looking up.
The sister laughed, got up, and disappeared down the hallway.
The house went quiet again.
She stayed still, that word still in her head.
She couldn't tell if she was learning something new about him, or if she was simply starting to look closer.