Heart pounding, I make a beeline for the library, nearly colliding with Dibella at the entrance. “I’m so, so sorry I’m late. There was an incident in physical—”
Dibella tuts with a smile, her warm eyes crinkling at the corners. “Not to worry, love. I’ll reheat the kettle. Why don’t you get settled by my desk and start working on the stamps?”
As I pass the other library assistants, they shoot me dirty looks. I can feel their judgment like needles in my skin, but I shrug it off. I drop my bag beside Dibella’s desk and sit down, relieved to finally do some actual work. The familiar scent of old books and the quiet hum of the library soothes my frayed nerves. Ignoring the glares thrown my way, I start cleaning the pile of dirty stamps. The repetitive motion is calming, each swipe of the clot
