In the notebook on her table, she wrote a single line and closed it before she could read what she’d written.

Morning came gray again, the kind of light that blurred the edges of everything it touched. The town was still asleep when Sienna unlocked the library door. The bell chimed once—soft, reluctant, like it hadn’t fully woken either.

She wiped the counter, turned on the lamps, and filled the silence with small, necessary sounds. A drawer closing. A page turned. The faint creak of the stool beneath her as she sat.

Outside, a car door shut. She didn’t look immediately; she knew the rhythm of his steps now, though she’d only heard them once before.

When Liam appeared at the entrance, shaking off his jacket again, she felt something between surprise and inevitability.

“Morning,” he said.

She exhaled what might’ve been a laugh. “You’re early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Thought maybe the library opens earlier for locals.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been here six days.”

He grinned. “Feels longer.”

He carried two paper cups, one extended toward her. The cardboard sleeve had the diner’s lightning-bolt logo on it.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to see if you were right.”

“About what?”

“The quiet,” he replied, setting the cup beside her. “It’s not so bad once you start listening.”

Sienna hesitated before taking it. The coffee was hot enough to sting her fingers through the cup. “And?”

He shrugged, leaning against the counter again, familiar now. “Still loud. Just… less lonely.”

She looked down at the rising steam and felt something loosen in her chest—a knot she hadn’t realized was still there.

They stood in silence, the kind that asked for nothing. Through the fogged window, the town began to move: a cyclist in a yellow poncho, the florist unlocking her shop, the morning bus sighing at the corner.

When Liam finally spoke, his tone was almost shy. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

“The rain?”

“The waiting,” he said. “For it to stop.”

Sienna turned toward the window. “It’s not really waiting if you stop expecting it to.”

He studied her profile, the faint reflection of both of them caught in the glass. “That sounds like giving up.”

“It’s not,” she said quietly. “It’s staying.”

A pause. The kind that might’ve turned awkward if either of them were less tired.

Then he said, “Maybe I’ll stay too, for a while.”

The bell above the door trembled in a draft, but didn’t ring. The world held its breath long enough for the thought to take root.

By noon, the library filled with the faint rhythm of ordinary life. Nora arrived first, humming off-key as she shrugged out of her raincoat, water flicking everywhere.

“You opened early again?” she asked, dropping her backpack behind the counter.

Sienna nodded. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

Nora followed her glance toward the reading tables, where Liam sat with a stack of local history books and an untouched muffin. “Ah,” she said, drawing the syllable out like a knowing melody. “New regular?”

“Just new,” Sienna said.

“Uh-huh.” Nora smirked, tying her hair into a loose knot. “Should I tell him we don’t do memberships for charming strangers?”

Sienna gave a small smile that wasn’t quite denial. “He’s reading.”

“So are toddlers when they eat pages,” Nora whispered, then winked before heading to the back room.

Liam looked up just then, catching the tail end of Sienna’s sigh. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“Not yet,” she said.

He grinned. “I’ll aim for maybe later.”

The air between them was different now—lighter, but edged with something that wasn’t humor. The kind of awareness that slips in quietly and stays.

For the next hour, conversation scattered like dust between movements: small, unimportant, yet anchoring in their repetition.

“Do you always shelve alphabetically?”  

“Yes.”  

“Even when no one’s watching?”  

“Yes.”  

“That’s commitment.”  

“It’s habit.”  

“Same thing, isn’t it?”

He said it like a joke, but it landed somewhere deeper. She didn’t answer.

At lunch, Nora waved goodbye, leaving them alone again. The silence returned, but it no longer felt like an intruder.

Liam walked to the counter, holding an open book. “This place smells like paper and rain.”

Sienna tilted her head. “Is that good or bad?”

“Both,” he said. “Smells like something trying to remember itself.”

She didn’t know what that meant, not really, but she understood enough to let it stay in the air.

The bell chimed faintly as the wind picked up outside. Rain slanted across the windows in quick, nervous strokes. He set the book down carefully, the cover closing with a quiet sound that felt almost like punctuation.

“I’ll get out of your way,” he said.

“You weren’t in it,” she replied.

He smiled. “Then I’ll pretend that’s permission.”

She didn’t stop him when he walked toward the exit. Didn’t call after him, either. But when the door closed and the rain took him back, she found herself reaching for the coffee cup he’d left—cold now, but still holding his thumbprint near the rim.

The cup sat there until closing time, beside her open notebook, both of them waiting for a line that hadn’t been written yet.