OVERDUE

The return slot clicks at 3:17am. Not 3:16. Not 3:18. 3:17, every night, like the radiators are on a timer. Seo Jun doesn’t look up right away. He finishes logging _Introduction to Astrophysics_ for the guy who smells like Monster Energy and bad decisions. Stamp. Thunk. “Have a good night.” The guy doesn’t answer. Only then does Seo Jun glance at the slot. _The Bell Jar_. Sylvia Plath. Mass market paperback. Spine cracked to hell. Corner of the cover chewed, like someone thought about eating it and changed their mind. Checked out by: Y/N. Again. He flips open the circulation log on his computer. He’s not supposed to track people. He tells himself it’s for the late-fee report. Data. Just data. Y/N, Card #847291 _The Bell Jar_ – 47th checkout. Last return: Yesterday, 3:17am. Last checkout: Yesterday, 3:19am. Forty-seven times. She checks it out, takes it home for exactly two minutes, and drops it back. She’s never kept it past 3:20am. Seo Jun pulls the book out. It’s warm. From the slot heater or from her hands, he doesn’t know. He opens it. It falls open automatically to page 47. The gutter is worn soft. There’s a faint crease down the center, like a thumb has been holding it there for hours at a time. Page 47. Esther Greenwood in the hospital. The electroshock scene. He hasn’t read it since sophomore year, when he was still an English Lit major and still thought books could save people. He dropped out after his dad died. Books didn’t pay the hospital bills. The library night desk did. He reads the page anyway. _“I wondered what terrible thing it was that I had done.”_ The margin next to that line is gray. Smudged. Like an eraser went over pencil, or like someone rubbed their thumb there until the paper gave up. The library is empty. It always is at 3:17am during winter break. Just him, the radiators, and the ghost who returns Plath like it’s a religion. He hears the front door. No bell. It broke last month and Facilities hasn’t fixed it. Just the soft shush of cold air. She doesn’t come to the desk. She never does. She drops and runs. But tonight, Seo Jun has a sticky note. Yellow. He stole the pad from Minseok’s room. Minseok uses them to label his film negatives: “EX: DO NOT OPEN.” Seo Jun writes three words. His handwriting is bad. He failed Handwriting in third grade. A real achievement. He sticks it on page 47, right over the smudge. Not covering the text. Just beside it. Like a footnote. _You can skip this part._ He closes the book. Sets it on the reshelving cart. Then, because he’s already crossed a line and his brain is an asshole, he takes it off the cart and slides it under the desk. He checks the clock. 3:19am. She should be gone. The door shushes again. Seo Jun looks up. Y/N is standing there. Not at the door. At the desk. For the first time in 47 nights. She’s wearing a navy hoodie two sizes too big. Sleeves pulled down over her hands. Hair damp, like she walked here in the snow and didn’t care. Eyes on the counter, not on him. He forgets how to breathe like a normal person. “You forgot to scan it,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. Like she hasn’t used it today. Or yesterday. He looks down. _The Bell Jar_ is in his hands. He didn’t realize he picked it up. “Right,” he says. His voice cracks. He’s 26. He should not crack. “Sorry.” He scans it. The beep is too loud. _Beep_. Y/N, Card #847291 _The Bell Jar_ – 48th checkout. She takes the book. Doesn’t look at him. Turns to go. “Wait,” he says. i***t. She stops. Still not looking. He points at the book, like she doesn’t know what she’s holding. “It’s, uh. It’s due in three weeks.” “I know.” She leaves. Door shushes. Cold comes in, then goes out with her. Seo Jun sits down. Stares at his screen until 3:34am, when Minseok texts him: _You gonna die at that desk or what_ _Bring me cup noodles if you’re alive_ He doesn’t answer. He opens the circulation log again. Y/N’s history: _The Bell Jar_ x48 _The Colossus_ x12 _Ariel_ x9 _Letters Home_ x3 All Plath. All overdue at least once. All returned at 3:17am. He thinks about the sticky note. _You can skip this part._ It was stupid. Invasive. He doesn’t know her. He knows her card number and her damage. That’s not the same thing. 3:47am. The slot clicks. He’s on his feet before he decides to move. _The Bell Jar_. Back already. He opens to page 47. His sticky note is gone. In its place, pressed into the margin in pencil, small enough he has to lean in: _Don’t tell me what to do._ Under it, a fresh smudge. Like she rubbed her thumb there after writing it. Seo Jun closes the book. Puts it on the cart. Not under the desk. His hands are shaking. The radiator clanks. 3:48am.