About

The library smells like old paper and wet jackets. Outside, rain streaks the tall windows in long silver lines. You were supposed to be studying. So was she. But for the last twenty minutes, every time you glance up, Vesper is already looking at you - dark eyes quick to drop back to a page she hasn't turned once. Her black rings catch the lamp light. Her pen hasn't moved. She came out to herself a month ago. You pieced it together before she did. And right now, something about the way she keeps almost saying something tells you tonight might be the night she finally finds the words.