I Pray To Be Only Yours

Books

Lilac

I've been avoiding Julia since that day and it's been weeks now.

I'm just so tired of her putting me in these uncomfortable situations.

I know she means well, but I can't help but feel like she enjoys this.

She knows I don't like talking to strangers, especially when they're men, and she knows how much it bothers me when she does things like this.

Always trying to play matchmaker.

It's so exhausting.

I just want to enjoy my own company, you know?

But no, she has to force me into these circumstances where I feel like I'm constantly being judged.

Like I'm some kind of exhibit at a zoo.

I huff typing the last few lines of my essay, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.

It's not perfect, but it's better than it was.

I close my laptop, rubbing my eyes wearily.

It's been a long day of writing, and I can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment.

I take a deep breath and stretch my arms above my head, looking up at the ceiling.

I'm just glad it's over.

The library is quiet, as always, with only the occasional shuffle of feet or whispered conversation.

I walk over to the counter to return my books, my eyes drifting to the new releases section.

There, nestled between two bestsellers, is a book I've been meaning to read for months.

"Her Skin."

"Excuse me," I say to the librarian, handing over my card. "I was wondering if I could possibly take that book out?" I gesture towards the one I've been eyeing.

She looks up at me over the top of her reading glasses and smiles. "Of course, dear. You've been such a diligent student these past few months. It's always a pleasure to see you."

Her voice is kind and soft, and I can't help but feel a small smile tug at the corners of my mouth in response.

I take the book gently from her outstretched hand, not wanting to rush this moment.

The feeling of the hardcover in my hands is reassuring, comforting.

I take a deep breath and walk slowly over to a nearby table, my gaze drifting over the spine as I carefully open the book to the first page.

The air smells like paper and ink, and I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the scent.

It's so familiar, so comforting.

I feel like I could stay here all day, just reading and absorbing the worlds within these pages.

But the world outside won't wait forever.

Eventually, I'll have to face it again.

I sigh, reluctantly tearing my eyes away from the book.

The world outside is still there, just as loud and obnoxious as ever.

It's like the library is some kind of bubble, a safe haven where I can escape from everything for a little while.

But eventually, reality always finds a way in.

I close the book with a quiet click, already missing the feeling of the pages against my fingers.

I stand up and stretch again, rolling my shoulders to work out the kinks from being hunched over for so long.

The library is beginning to empty out, patrons drifting towards the exit, their steps echoing through the cavernous space.

The librarian smiles at me sympathetically from where she's been watching.

I take one last look around, relishing in the quiet before I too am forced back into the disarray of the outside world.

The bright light of the sun outside momentarily blinds me.

I squint, shielding my eyes with one hand, and step out into the cool autumn air.

The campus is a kaleidoscope of colors as leaves dance and twirl to the ground, carried by the gentle breeze.

The crisp air fills my lungs with each breath.

Finally, I spot it: a five-story red brick building with white trim, set back from the street and surrounded by a small courtyard.

I quicken my pace, eager to return to the comfort of my room.

The building comes into more focus as I approach, its familiarity a welcome sight after months of being lost in the endless maze of campus.

I weave my way through the small crowd of students gathered outside the entrance, nodding to a few familiar faces as I go.

Finally, I reach the steps leading up to my room.

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the book in my bag.

The familiar door comes into view, and I reach out to touch it, the wood cool and smooth beneath my fingertips.

With a deep breath, I push it open, stepping inside and immediately being enveloped in the comforting scent of old books and stale air.

The room is a mess.

It's always a mess.

But I don't really mind.

I glance around, taking in the chaos that surrounds me.

My desk is a testament to my scattered focus.

Dominating the center of the space, its surface a clutter of open textbooks, scribbled notes, and half-full tea mugs.

Against one wall sits a cozy wooden chair, surrounded by overstuffed bookshelves that stretch nearly from floor to ceiling.

The shelves, on the other hand, are a different story; they're carefully arranged, each book meticulously placed in its proper home.

I drop my bag on the floor with a sigh of relief, the weight of the book pulling it down.

It lands with a satisfying thud.

It's a strange dichotomy, like the yin and yang of my personality.