The Library of Lost Things

Chapter 2

The weak, pale morning sun slanted through the gaps in Elias's blinds, striped across his cluttered desk. He lay in bed, all the warmth of the duvet a contrast to the chill that felt like it had permanently settled into his bones.

The images of the previous night's events had been replaying obsessively through his mind, with none of the restful pauses that came with a good night's sleep. The Millers' house, David's smug grin, his parents' disappointed sighs, each memory is a fresh jab of anxiety.

He rolled over, burying his face in the pillow, and groaned. "Just go away," he mumbled into the cotton pillow, as if he could shut up these relentless thoughts by sheer will. But they were resilient-a noise of concerns really ringing in his ear.

He had a midterm exam later that day, a shift at the bookstore, and the looming dread of another fight with his parents over his "lack of direction."

He heaved a sigh, as if to take in the weight of the world, and launched himself out of bed. The world swam into focus: the posters on his walls, the overflowing bookshelf, the crumpled clothes on the floor-all evidence to the chaos of his life. He shuffled to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, as if trying to shock himself awake.

The reflection in the mirror was that of a stranger-pale with dark circles underneath his eyes, his hair disheveled. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, and that wasn't far from the truth. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame the unruly strands, but it was a futile effort.

"Great," he muttered to his bedecked reflection, "looking good, Elias." Though it did little to lift his spirits.

He was getting dressed, feeling absolutely unenthusiastic about anything. He pulled on a faded T-shirt and jeans, grabbed his backpack, and headed out the door.

The students hustled across campus, in and out of class, their voices a jarring noise to the quiet turmoil in his head. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact-feeling like an outsider looking in at a world that seemed to get by just fine.

He went to the lecture hall, where the familiar smell of chalk dust and old books did nothing to assuage his anxiety. He took a seat in the back, attempting to mingle with the anonymity of the crowd.

The professor's voice continued to drone on, the words washing over him without registering. He tried focusing, taking notes, but his mind was a jumble of thoughts; each one pulled him deeper into the pit of his despair.

A tap on his shoulder made him look up into the worried face of Seline. "Elias, are you okay? You look awful."

He forced a smile, praying it didn't appear as forced as it felt. "Just a little tired," he mumbled-the lie tasting stale on his tongue.

Seline didn't push, but something in her eyes-too knowing-made him shift. That she knew him too well, saw through the facade of indifference.

"Come on," she said, taking his hand. "We'll go get coffee. You need a break."

He hesitated, not wanting to leave the relative safety of the lecture hall. "I don't know, Seline, I really should try to pay attention."

"Elias," she cut in, firm but just as soft, "you aren't really helping your case much, sitting like this. You need a clear head more than some lecture now, trust me."

Seline's hand was warm and reassuring, and he found himself following her.

They walked in silence, the crisp autumn air a welcome change from stuffy classrooms. Seline led him to a small café tucked away on one of the quiet corners of the campus.

The café was warm and inviting, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee a comfortingly known smell. They found a table by the window; the sun streamed inside and cast a warm glow on Seline's face.