Gemotions

The library was quiet, a place of hushed whispers and the scent of old paper. Eleanor found herself sitting at a table, waiting for Claire, who had always boasted of a career as a celebrated novelist. She had picked a particular corner that was well-lit by the evening sun.

Claire arrived, her usual flair for drama completely absent. She sat down, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She confessed, her voice barely audible, that she worked as a proofreader.

Eleanor slowly took a book from her bag, and opened it to a random page. "I see," she said, her voice soft. The printed words on the page felt comforting, familiar. The library seemed to enclose them in a quiet bubble, and the sounds of the outside world faded. She focused on the text, losing herself in the words.