The rest of the afternoon passed with a softness that didn’t feel accidental.

It was in the way the light settled across the worn wood floors, in the way the air smelled faintly of paper and sugar from the forgotten bakery bag, in the way Liam’s notebook lay open but barely written in—as if he were more interested in being here than in filling the pages.

Later, when Nora finally returned from her errand with a roll of receipt paper under one arm and a packet of candy in her mouth, she stopped short at the sight of the library card on the counter.

“What’s that?” she asked, words muffled.

“Evidence,” Liam said.

“Of what?”

“That Sienna has, in fact, been a library creature for many years.”

Nora set the receipt roll down and peered closer. “Whoa. Vintage Sienna.”

Sienna narrowed her eyes. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what? Like it’s adorable?” Nora leaned on the counter, grinning. “Did you have different handwriting back then?”

“Yes,” Sienna muttered.

“I like this one,” Liam said, almost too casually.

She shot him a look. “This what?”

“This version,” he said. “Wrinkled, but readable.”

The words slid between them with quiet intent.

Nora blinked. “Okay, I don’t get it, but I respect the vibe.”

“Go restock the pens,” Sienna said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Nora grabbed the candy and retreated, humming something off-key.

When she was gone, Sienna traced the edge of the card again.

“You really think things stay?” she asked.

He tilted his head. “I think… some do. Some don’t. But the ones that stay are rarely the ones we expect.”

She thought about that. “What did you expect to stay?”

“Old habits,” he said. “Certainties. Plans. Whole versions of myself.”

“And did they?”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Some had to go. To make room.”

“For what?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her for a moment, then dropped his gaze to the counter.

“For better things,” he said.

The space between them shifted—small, but noticeable.

“Have you ever regretted leaving somewhere?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, without hesitation.

“Have you ever regretted staying?”

He paused. The question seemed to surprise even him.

“…No,” he said finally. “Not when I really chose it. Not when it meant something.”

She held his gaze, her fingers still resting on the old card.

“What about you?” he asked gently. “Do you regret staying here?”

Her instinct was to say no.

No, of course not.  

No, this is safe.  

No, this is what I know.

But the word caught in her throat.

She looked around the library—the familiar shelves, the worn tables, the window that had seen more rain than sunlight. The place that had held her together when everything else felt unreliable.

“I used to think I would leave,” she admitted. “When I was younger.”

“Why didn’t you?”

She searched for an answer she could name.

“Because this place stayed when nothing else did,” she said finally.

He nodded slowly, like he’d expected that.

“And now?” he asked.

“Now,” she said, fingers curling around the edge of the card, “I think… maybe I stayed for me. Not just for this place.”

He watched her, and his smile this time was quiet, almost proud.

“That sounds like a better reason,” he said.

The afternoon wore on. People came and went. The brief attempt at sunlight vanished completely, leaving only the gentle, muted light of lamps and overcast sky.

As closing time approached, Liam helped her with the last of the returns, their hands moving in practiced parallel. There was a rhythm to it now—one she hadn’t looked for, but found anyway.

When the last book slid into place, Sienna closed the shelf with a soft click.

“Do you ever feel like you’re… different than you thought you’d be?” she asked suddenly.

“Constantly,” he said.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“It used to,” he admitted. “I thought changing meant I’d failed whoever I used to be.”

“And now?”

“Now I think it just means I met new things worth changing for.”

She didn’t respond immediately.

He waited, as he always did.

“I don’t recognize some parts of myself anymore,” she confessed.

“Good,” he said quietly.

She frowned. “How is that good?”

“Because it means you’re not stuck,” he replied. “You’re… moving. Even if it’s slow.”

He paused.

“Even if you’re not sure where to.”

She let out a breath she hadn’t meant to.

He didn’t try to make her laugh this time, or soften the moment. He just stood there with her in it.

When they finished tidying, she turned off the lamps one by one. The library fell into a gentle dimness, familiar now that she’d seen it in darker.

She slipped the old library card into her pocket.

“Taking it?” Liam asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he said.

They stepped outside. The air smelled like wet stone. The sky was heavy, but not threatening. The kind of gray that felt like an exhale rather than a warning.

He opened the umbrella, and they fell into their now-familiar place beneath it.

Halfway down the street, Sienna spoke.

“Do you think people can be like that, too?” she asked.

“Like what?”

“Like the card. Lost for a while. But still… here. Just in a different drawer.”

He thought about it.

“Yes,” he said. “I do.”

“Even if you’re not looking for them?”

“Especially then,” he said. “Sometimes the things that stay are the ones we don’t realize we kept making space for.”

She was quiet for a few steps.

“What if you’re scared they’ll leave anyway?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away.

Then, gently—

“Then maybe the question becomes… is the time they’re here worth the risk?”

She felt that land somewhere deep.

“And is it?” she asked.

He didn’t look away. “For me? Yes.”

The word settled between them with a calm certainty that made the street feel smaller.

When they reached her building, she didn’t move toward the stairs right away. Her hand brushed against the library card in her pocket, the edges worn, the plastic warm from her skin.

“Liam,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how long things stay,” she said. “People. Places. Anything.”

“I know,” he replied.

“But,” she continued, surprising herself, “I think… I want to see what does.”

His breath caught—not loud, but enough that she heard it.

“Okay,” he said softly. “We can do that.”

“We?” she echoed.

He gave her a small, crooked smile. “If you want.”

The old fear stirred.

This time, it didn’t win.

“I do,” she said.

He held her gaze for a long, quiet moment that felt like a page turning.

“Tomorrow?” he asked, as always.

“Tomorrow,” she answered.

When he left, the street felt less empty. Her pocket felt heavy with something that had once been lost and then, quietly, found again.

Some things stayed.  

Some didn’t.

But for the first time, Sienna wasn’t only afraid of which was which.

She was curious.