The problem with finishing a chapter—
was that sometimes—
it left you thinking long after you closed the book.
Tuesday afternoon arrived wrapped in soft autumn sunshine.
The school day had moved along quietly, and by the time lunch ended, Noah found himself looking forward to the familiar walk toward the reading bench.
When he arrived beneath the oak tree, Lily was already there.
She sat with her book open in her lap, the breeze gently stirring a few loose strands of hair.
“You beat me here again,” Noah said.
“By about thirty seconds.”
“I’ll catch up eventually.”
“I’m beginning to doubt that.”
They shared a smile before opening their books.
For a while, the only sounds were turning pages and the distant chatter of students crossing the courtyard.
Then Noah reached the end of a
