"So who's the lucky guy?" My friend asked me during lunchtime.
"His name is Milo," I replied.
My friend, Elle, looked at me in awe. "You really have it good, don't you?" She said.
"He is kind of nice, but I don't know how well things are going to turn out for us," I reply. What makes her say that I have life good for me?
I think about how I've made up my life. I have a condo, which I live alone in. I work on accounting, which is good I guess. I don't know what she thinks is so good about me. If anything, I'm a little bit jealous if her. She has perfectly straight, dirty blonde hair. Mine is an absolute mess, light brown with shoulder-length curls. She has many friends, and does well in school. I, however, struggle to keep up sometimes. "So," I say with an awkward laugh, "do you want dessert?" I say, cringing at my lack of creativity.
"Dessert sounds great." Elle says with a warm smile, making up for the weird moment.
We order our dessert, and talk about college while we wait for our order. She is pursuing her dream at becoming a nurse, getting her masters in registered nursing, which is great for her. I am getting a degree in social sciences and history, and still indecisive on what job I want full-time.
I see Elle perk up and I turn around to see the waiter coming with our desserts. She sets them down in front of us, both of them Instagram worthy lava cakes. I dig in and moan about the delicious chocolate explosion in my mouth.
When I finally finish, I pay for the meal without hesitation and say goodbye to Elle.
As I walk home on the chilly streets of Chicago, I notice that more and more leaves are falling every day. Fall will be here soon, and I am not quite ready for the change. It is my favorite season, but I feel like the year is going by too fast. I need to take a break.
I walk by a shorter stone building with gargoyle statues on the roof. "The library," I whisper to myself. Without thinking, I decide to stop by.
I struggle to open the tall glass doors as I enter, and I feel very embarrassed about it. As I walk inside the library, I smell the familiar smell of old books and a hint of coffee. My eyes dance over the shelves of books, self upon shelf full of them.
I walk towards the stairs, and when I climb up to the 2nd floor, I find my favorite section of the entire building. I enter a little nook, with a shorter ceiling than the main area. There are various seating options; bean bags, a small sofa and a few normal chairs. The lighting is dim, but just bright enough to read without straining your eyes. The books up here are my favorite selection; I prefer action and science fiction.
I throw my purse on the ground, which hits the coffee table in the middle of the room, and sets all if the magazines stacked on it askew. I don't really worry about it though, because this felt like my own private area.
Just as I choose a book and sit down in the sofa, I hear the familiar sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. I quickly picked up the mini mess I made with my purse on the ground, and stacked the magazines on the coffee table as the stranger appeared at the top of the steps.
