Unlabeled 🌈

The Library Again

Chapter Fourteen

The library feels different this time. Not safer, not warmer—just heavier, like it knows I’m bringing more than books with me.

I slip into the same corner as before, the one hidden behind the encyclopedias. My hands are restless, tapping against the table, unfolding and refolding the note until the edges feel like they’re about to tear. You’re not the only one. The words echo every time I read them, but tonight they don’t sound like comfort. They sound like a question I don’t know how to answer.

A group of kids passes by the front desk, laughing too loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls. I duck lower in my chair, even though they don’t notice me. No one does. That’s the point.

I open a book, but the pages blur together. My reflection in the glossy paper looks tired, like someone I’ve been carrying around instead of living as. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be both here and not here—to take up space but still feel erased.

For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine walking out of this corner, pinning a rainbow to my chest, and daring the world to see me. My heart races just thinking it.

But when I open my eyes, the fantasy slips away. I’m still in the shadows of the library, still hiding with a note that feels like both a lifeline and a chain.