The Library Wall
984 Words
The library was empty at 2:08 PM.
Row C. Third table from the window.
His notebook was already there. Open. Pen laid perfectly parallel. Oat latte. Extra shot. Steam still rising.
My seat.
I stopped three aisles away. Hid behind "Advanced Behavioral Statistics". My heart was doing that stupid thing again. Fast. Loud.
My phone buzzed.
L: I can see you. Blue sweater. Third stack. Stop hiding and sit down.
I didn’t move.
The lights above me flickered. Once.
L: Maya. Sit. Or I’ll come get you. And we both know I’m better at taking than asking.
I sat.
The chair across from me was warm. Like he’d just stood up.
“You didn’t drink it,” he said from behind me.
I jumped. He was right there. Leaning against the shelf, arms crossed. Black turtleneck. Hair damp like he’d walked through rain.
Lucien Ashford. 2:09 PM.
“How did you—”
“I’m fast,” he said. Pulled out the chair and sat. Close. Knee almost brushing mine under the table. “And you’re predictable. Blue on Mondays. Coffee here. Journals as a shield.”
He pushed the latte toward me. “Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“You’re shaking,” he said. Looked at my hands. “Drink, Maya.”
I drank. It was perfect. Of course it was.
For a long minute neither of us talked. He just watched. Like he was cataloging me. Eyebrows. Mouth. The way I held the cup with both hands.
“Ben cried in the lab today,” he said finally. “Did you know that?”
My cup paused halfway to my mouth. “What?”
“Evening labs. New partner is a grad student who only speaks Mandarin. Ben doesn’t speak Mandarin.” A small smile. “He asked Patel to switch him back. She said no. Funding constraints.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s necessary,” Lucien said. “You were distracted. Now you’re not.”
I slammed the cup down. Coffee sloshed. “You don’t get to ruin people’s lives because you think I’m—”
“Because I think you’re mine?” He finished. Voice soft. Dangerous. “I do. I get to.”
He leaned forward. Elbows on the table. The library was so quiet I could hear the pen in his pocket click.
“Do you know what I thought about Friday night?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Liar,” he said. “You do. You’ve been replaying it. The door. My hand on your back. The way I said your name.”
My face went hot. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” He stood. Came around the table. Stood behind my chair. I could feel him there without touching me.
“Stop thinking about it?” he whispered in my ear. “Stop wanting it? Stop having dirty thoughts about the donor who funds your department and cuts your friends’ phone lines?”
I shot up. Chair screeched. “I don’t—”
“You do,” he cut in. Eyes dark. No smile now. Just that intense, carved-stone focus. “I can see it. Right here.” He tapped his temple. “You’re terrified. And curious. And angry. All at once. It’s fascinating.”
He reached out. Brushed one finger along the strap of my bag. Not me. The bag. Like he was testing how close he could get without breaking me.
“The wall is good,” he said. “Keeps people out. Keeps you in.”
“What wall?”
“This one.” He knocked once on the bookshelf next to us. Thud. “Glass. Quiet. No cameras. Perfect for conversations no one else should hear.”
My stomach dropped. “You planned this.”
“I plan everything, Maya.” He picked up his notebook. Flipped to a new page. My name was already written at the top. Under it: a list.
Aisha: Monitor calls.
Ben: Evening lab, new partner.
Maya: Library, 2:08 PM, alone.
Next: Her room. Sunday.
I grabbed for the notebook. He pulled it away. Held it above my head. He was taller. Of course he was.
“Let go,” I said.
“No,” he said. “You let go. Of them. Of normal. Of the idea that you have a choice here.”
He was so close I could smell cedar again. And something else. Ink. Paper. Control.
“You said you’d protect me,” I whispered.
“I am,” he said. “From Ben’s bad coffee and bad intentions. From Aisha’s brother in Texas who doesn’t check in enough. From yourself.”
His phone buzzed. He didn’t look.
“Maya,” he said. My name like a verdict. “Tomorrow. My car. 9 PM. We’re going to dinner. Just us. No notebooks between us.”
“I have class.”
“You don’t anymore,” he said simply. “I emailed your professor. Family emergency. Very generous donor. He understood.”
Rage hit me. Hot and sudden. “You can’t do that!”
“I just did,” he said. Stepped back. Put distance between us like he was being kind. “9 PM. Don’t make me send the car to your porch again.”
He walked away. Past the stacks. Past the desk. Didn’t look back.
At 2:15 PM the lights above my table went out.
My phone buzzed.
L: Drink the rest of your coffee. Then go home. Lock the door. I’ll be thinking about you.
I sat there for ten minutes with cold coffee and a list with my name on it.
He started small. My seat. My coffee. My schedule.
Then bigger. My friends. My phone. My freedom.
Now?
Now he wanted my nights.
And the worst part was, some small, stupid part of me was already wondering what he’d order for me.
- Writer
