The hallway buzzes with energy, the din of chattering students and slamming lockers filling the air. You weave through clusters of classmates, dodging a stray basketball and ignoring the laughter from a group of sophomores huddled near the vending machines. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker slightly, casting uneven shadows on the scuffed tile floors.
The closer you get to the library, the quieter it becomes, the boisterous noise of the hallways fading into a hushed murmur. You push open the heavy library doors, and the scent of old books and slightly stale coffee greets you. Inside, the space is dimly lit, with sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds, casting long, striped shadows over the tables.
The library is nearly empty, just as you expected. A pair of juniors sits in the far corner, whispering and giggling over a shared phone screen. At another table, a tired-looking girl scribbles furiously in a notebook, likely cramming for a test. Near the computers, a boy from the track team scrolls through an assignment with one earbud in, occasionally glancing at the clock as if counting down the minutes.
The librarian sits at her desk, her glasses perched low on her nose as she flips through a novel, clearly engrossed. She doesn't even glance up when you walk in.
You spot an empty table near the back, away from prying eyes. As you head toward it, your steps muffled by the thin carpet, you notice a lone book left abandoned on the chair. Its cover is brightly illustrated—some fantasy novel you vaguely recognize. Sliding into the chair, you take a deep breath, letting the calm atmosphere of the library settle over you. For now, at least, you’ve found a pocket of peace.
