The library was quieter than usual that afternoon.
Not silent—but calm enough that every small sound felt louder than it should. Pages turning. Chairs shifting. Pens tapping lightly against wood.
Lillian sat at a corner table, her books neatly arranged in front of her. She had been there for almost twenty minutes, trying to focus on her notes, but her mind kept drifting.
It had been a few days since Owen Smith joined the class.
A few days of small moments.
Nothing serious.
Nothing important.
At least, that's what she told herself.
"Do you always sit here?"
The voice came suddenly, low but clear.
Lillian looked up.
Owen was standing beside her table, one hand resting lightly on the chair across from her.
For a second, she didn't answer.
"Um… yes," she said finally, her voice soft.
He nodded, like that confirmed something. "It's quiet."
Lillian glanced around. "That's why I like it."
There was a brief pause.
Owen pulled out the chair. "Can I?"
Lillian hesitated… then nodded.
He sat down across from her, placing his book on the table without rushing. Unlike most people, he didn't fill the silence immediately. He just looked at the page in front of him, flipping it open like he had planned to sit there all along.
Lillian tried to return to her work.
But now it felt different.
Too aware.
Too close.
After a few seconds, Owen spoke again.
"You write a lot."
Lillian blinked. "What?"
He gestured slightly toward her notebook. "In class. You're always writing."
She looked down at it, almost like she hadn't realized. "It helps me focus."
He nodded once. "You understand things fast?"
"I just… try to," she said quietly.
Another pause.
But this one wasn't awkward.
It felt… steady.
Owen leaned back slightly in his chair. "Bella talks a lot."
Lillian almost smiled at that.
"Yes," she said.
"Are you two really close?" he asked.
The question caught her off guard.
Lillian hesitated, thinking carefully before answering. "Yes."
But even she could hear how unsure it sounded.
Owen noticed.
He didn't push it though.
Instead, he said, "She was the first person who talked to me."
"That sounds like Bella," Lillian replied softly.
"She's easy to talk to," he added.
Lillian nodded.
"Yes… she is."
There was something in her voice that shifted slightly, but she didn't explain it.
Owen studied her for a moment—not in a strange way, just observant.
"You're not," he said.
Lillian looked up quickly, a little surprised.
"I mean," he continued calmly, "you don't talk unless you have something to say."
She didn't know how to respond to that.
No one had ever said it like that before.
Most people just called her quiet.
Or shy.
Or invisible.
But this felt different.
"I guess," she said slowly.
Owen gave a small nod, like that was enough.
Then he looked back at his book.
The conversation could have ended there.
But it didn't.
After a few minutes, Lillian spoke again—this time without overthinking it.
"You don't talk much either."
Owen glanced up, a faint hint of amusement in his eyes.
"I do," he said. "Just not to everyone."
Lillian felt something shift in her chest.
"Then why are you talking to me?" she asked before she could stop herself.
The question hung between them.
Owen didn't answer immediately.
He looked at her—really looked this time, like he was choosing his words carefully.
Then he said,
"Because you listen."
The simplicity of it caught her off guard.
Lillian looked down quickly, her fingers tightening slightly around her pen.
No one had ever said that like it was something important.
For a moment, neither of them spoke again.
But this time, the silence felt different.
Not empty.
Not awkward.
Just… understood.
Across the room, the door opened briefly.
Voices passed by.
Laughter echoed faintly.
But at that table, in that quiet corner—
Something small had changed.
And neither of them fully realized yet
how much it would matter.