It is already dark when I lock myself in my room. Curled up alone on my bed, I'm enveloped in silence, but Mum's voice keeps roaring in my head.

Where the fuck have you been for so long? Did you really think you could get away with what you've been putting off for days? How can you be so careless? A lazy bitch... Good thing your father doesn't have to see this anymore...

Dark eyes sparkling with rage, hair in a tight ponytail, her demanding figure always intruding on my thoughts. Lately, she's been shopping and getting her nails done even more frequently. Like Dad, she quit her job, citing grief and inherited wealth. She hardly eats, so lost a lot of weight, even though she had no excess. Crying in the evenings, in the morning there's often another empty bottle of wine waiting by the bin to be taken to the recycling container. She fills her days with shopping and chatting with her friends, but she has no idea what to do without the war with Dad. Her only goal is to "make a sensible adult out of me". Because if my father couldn't do it, she will. Every day she's at home waiting for me to arrive after school. In the afternoons, she randomly checks on me to see how much I'm studying, when I turn on my computer. I wouldn't be surprised if she takes down the door of my room, depriving me of the rest of my personal space.

I wonder what she would say if I came home with a boyfriend? Say, a guy twice my age? I smile at the impossible scene. I wrap my arms around myself, imagining his strong arms around me, his big, warm palms holding my hands, dry from doing the dishes...

I bite my lip.

I shouldn't be thinking of such things. Guilt flows like acid under my skin. It hurts. More than ever before. Maybe because being with him has more reality than all my platonic loves combined. He spoke to me in the library. He smiled at me. And we touched hands twice.

The second time, did he do it on purpose?

But, why would he do that? Flirting? Surely he can get better women with the same amount of effort... Mocking the embarrassment of an underage virgin? Hardly. Those friendly black eyes didn't laugh at me, though they dug so deep in me where no one had been before. Instead, they reflected empathy. As if he knew exactly what was going on inside me, yet he didn't mind...

Ah, come on! I'm overthinking it. I was just a reader in a library, and it was his job to help and serve. There's nothing extraordinary about that.

But I'd like to believe there is.

I'm scrolling through the list of the library staff on my phone. Can’t find him. Maybe he's one of those without a picture next to his name. Or a new staff member and the website is not updated since his arrival. Perhaps on Facebook, among the thousands of followers of the library...

Why am I doing this? Why don't I just go back looking for some rare book?

No. I can't go any lower than this. He's a mature, independent man who has no intention of getting into a scandal over a minor. After work his wife and children are waiting for him at home, and there is no place for me in his life. He's a thousand times more unreachable than Bill will ever be.

I have to let him go.

Opening a video of Metamorph just to see the white-haired elf warrior slaying demons. His light, airy movements, his muscular body.

Can I help you with something? Metamorph's narrative seeps into the memory of his deep, hypnotic voice. How nervous... Of course; tomorrow is the first day of the World Championship! How could I forget? This is what I've been waiting for since last year's disaster! I wonder how he'll do this year?