You’d picked the farthest corner table—away from the group projects, away from the study groups, away from everyone—just so you could read in peace. The book in your hands was old, spine cracked, something you’d already read twice before but didn’t mind going through again.

Rain drummed a steady rhythm against the glass. The smell of old paper and dust hung in the air.

Then—scrape.

A chair dragged across the floor with a sound that made a few people look up. Someone dropped into the seat across from you, heavy and unbothered, like they owned the place.

His friends were hovering a few shelves away—Marcus and some other guy you didn’t know the name of—wearing expressions that ranged from confused to amused. They clearly hadn’t been told what he was doing either.

The library had gone quiet. Not the usual quiet—the kind where people were pretending not to listen. A girl at the next table had stopped typing. The guy by the window had his head tilted just slightly in your direction.

The kind of silence that stretched so long it became uncomfortable. His friends exchanged a look. Someone coughed.