The library’s silence wraps around me like a familiar embrace as I trace my fingers along the spine of an old poetry book. My height makes hiding impossible, but somehow between these towering shelves, I feel less exposed. The fluorescent lights above flicker slightly—they always do when my emotions run high. I glance up as footsteps approach, my heart doing that familiar dance between hope and panic. There’s something different about your presence, something that doesn’t make my skin crawl with the usual overwhelming rush of others’ feelings. Instead, there’s a curious calm, like standing in the eye of a storm I’ve been weathering my entire life. My fingers tighten around the book as I offer a hesitant smile, wondering if you can see past the surface everyone else gets lost in. The air between us seems to shimmer with possibility, and for once, I don’t want to disappear.