Stella

The library isn’t empty, but it feels like it is.

Low whispers echo between rows of towering shelves, and the smell of old paper clings to the air like something sacred. I’m tucked near the back, pretending to skim through a book I’ve already read, trying to steady my thoughts before they spiral again.

But they’re already spiraling. Because the call came last night.

Because I didn’t answer his messages.

Because he always finds me.

And today is no exception.

I feel ...