Leo stood at the edge of the library, watching a girl by the tall window. Her fingers traced the lines of a worn textbook. Golden autumn light slanted across the wooden table.
He reached for his own book, but it slipped from his grip and slid across the floor with a soft thud. The sound echoed too loudly in the quiet room. She glanced over, her eyes curious.
He tried walking toward her with a rehearsed hello, but his notebook flipped open mid-stride. Pages scattered across the linoleum like startled birds. He knelt quickly to gather them.
She watched him from a few feet away. When he finally stood, her chair scraped and she had already packed her bag, moving to another table. Leo stood alone.
On his fourth attempt, Leo carried two steaming coffee cups from the campus shop. He approached her table. The paper cups crinkled in his nervous hands.
The steam fogged his glasses and he stumbled over his words, offering both drinks. She blinked, surprised, then reached out and took one cup — her fingers brushed his.
Leo set his coffee down and opened his mouth, but she spoke first. Her voice was quiet but steady. She tapped her book, then pointed to the empty chair across from her.
His shoulders dropped like weight had been removed. The window behind her caught the fading autumn light, painting her in gold. He sat down.
He sipped his coffee and watched her turn the page. The soft rustle of paper filled the warm space between them. Maple leaves drifted past the window, one landing with a whisper against the glass.
They did not speak right away. But Leo smiled, his hand resting easy on his cup. The quiet between them felt like the beginning of something.