To Be Your Curse

Chapter 21: What Do I Do?

Morning rolled by faster than I expected. I was already sitting on the edge of my bed when my alarm went off, the sound barely registering over the noise in my head. I wasn't sure how I was feeling-maybe awkward? It had been a year since I cursed at my friends and then ghosted them completely. Now I was about to show up at the university again, out of the blue, as the acting librarian.

How would I react if I were in their shoes? Honestly, I'd find it a bit amusing.

That thought stayed with me as I got dressed, trying to strike a balance between looking presentable and not like I was heading to a lecture. I went for a smart casual look, throwing on a white undershirt, layered with dark beige open-collar shirt, and loose-fitted dark grey trousers seemed neutral enough. I threw on a matching grey jacket for good measure. My fingers ran through my hair, and I decided that was good enough-it didn't need any more attention than that.

As I laced up my shoes and stepped out of my apartment, I felt a tension in my chest that hadn't really left in the past year. I took slow, measured breaths, each step bringing me closer to the university and a day I wasn't entirely ready for. Though, I wasn't entirely nervous. I was more of anxious. They was a last minute decision and could end up worsening my state. If that's even still possible.

Even know taking this job wasn't a part of the plan, a part of me knew I couldn't slack off-if I was going to show up again, I couldn't half-ass it. But I also knew the library was always noisy, that means more work and that thought gnawed at me. It was ironic, really. The one place that should be the most peaceful on campus was always buzzing with chatter and whispers. It hadn't bothered me as much before, but things were different now.

My tolerance for noise had plummeted over the past year with me almost always in a quiet space. If I had the authority to actually keep things quiet, I might use it just for my own sanity.

"Am I late?" I muttered to myself, glancing at the woman standing in front of the library as I signed in. Her posture was rigid, eyes fixed on the door as if sheer concentration could will it open. She looked completely absorbed in her wait, like the hinges were holding back something she desperately needed. I shifted my attention to my wrist, checking my watch. 7:59 a.m. I was right on time. The tension in my shoulders loosened, and I exhaled a quiet sigh of relief.

I couldn't help but glance back at her. She stood out-formal and put together in a way that was almost out of place. Crisp white button-down tucked neatly into tailored gray trousers, polished shoes, and glasses that reflected the early morning light. Her curly hair was meticulously gathered into a ponytail, not a strand out of place, as though she'd used mousse to tame every last curl. Professors didn't usually dress like this, at least not with this much precision. She was different, almost too perfect for the scene she was in.

It's just school.

There was something strange about the way she stood there, caught between nervous energy and controlled anticipation. Was she here to prepare for a class? Did she need a specific textbook? Her hands twitched slightly, as if resisting the urge to knock on the door, and her lips pressed together.

"Morning, ma'am," I said, not bothering to fake a good mood. It had been too long since I was in one to be able to act it out properly anyway. I was hoping to break her trance and ease my own nerves as I approached the door. She turned toward me abruptly, her gaze piercing through the quiet morning air, making me feel like I had somehow offended her with my greeting, I avoided giving her my gaze, focusing on unlocking the door.

As soon as I unlocked the door, she slipped past me, barely waiting for it to open all the way. Her movements were fast, eager. She moved with the urgency of someone who had been waiting for this exact moment, not even pausing to acknowledge me further. I stood by the entrance, watching as she made a beeline for the fiction section, her eyes scanning the shelves.