A Fictional Love Story

Lia: Shades of Red

The library was quieter than usual, with only a handful of students scattered across tables, huddled over textbooks and laptops. The familiar scent of old books and faint whirr of the air conditioning provided a calm refuge from the outside world. I liked the quiet—more than liked it, actually. It was peaceful, predictable. Unlike most other parts of my life.

I was halfway through stacking a pile of books when I saw him. Red.

He was leaning against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, looking as detached and unbothered as ever. My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, I considered ignoring him. But before I could make a move, he pushed off the wall and sauntered over, his footsteps soft against the polished floors.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, almost like it was meant to be a secret shared between us.

I glanced up from the cart of books I was pushing and met his gaze. He was wearing a gray hoodie, the hood pulled halfway over his head, giving him that same brooding, mysterious aura that reminded me so much of Ten. Every time I looked at Red, it was like staring at a shadow of Ten—yet not quite.

He looked like him, moved like him. But where Ten, in my books, was always on the verge of opening up, Red felt like he was constantly shutting the world out.

"Hey," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart was beating just a little too fast.

He leaned over the cart, eyes scanning the books I had stacked. "You work here a lot, don't you?"

"Part-time gig," I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Pays me additional allowance and lets me hang out with books all day. Not a bad deal."

"Could be worse," he murmured, picking up a random book from the pile, flipping through it absentmindedly.

I watched him for a second, studying the way he moved—the way his fingers brushed the pages so gently, as if he understood the value of each word written on them. It was a simple gesture, but it reminded me so much of Ten, not just in looks but in personality. The way he'd thumb through the pages of old books in the story. The way he, too, seemed to live between the lines.

"Are you here to check out a book?" I asked, trying to pull myself out of my own thoughts.

He looked at me with that same cryptic expression, half a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

"No. Just wanted to see you."

My heart stumbled in my chest. His words were so blunt, so direct, yet laced with something unspoken. Was it real, or was he playing a game? Because lately, Red had been giving me these signals—mixed, confusing, frustrating signals. One minute, he was cold and distant, and the next, he'd say something like that. Something that felt like it carried weight, but I wasn't sure what kind of weight.

"You wanted to see me?" I repeated, incredulous.

Red shrugged, his eyes still on the book in his hands. "Why not?"

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're giving me mixed signals, you know that, right?"

He chuckled softly, setting the book back down on the cart. "Am I?"

I hated how effortlessly cool he sounded, how he could say things without revealing anything at all. It was maddening. But before I could say anything else, one of the students walked up, handing me a couple of returned books. I took them with a nod, but my focus was still on Red.

"Look, if you're just messing with me—" I started, but he cut me off.

"I'm not," he said, this time his voice softer, more sincere. "I'm not messing with you, Lia."