The library had always been silent, but today it felt quieter than usual. Not in the way of peace, but in the way that crept into your bones and made your thoughts louder.

He sat at his usual corner - last table by the window, second shelf from the Classics section. A worn-out notebook lay open in front of him, half-filled with thoughts that never made it into words. Not fully.

Today, he wasn't here for books.

He was here to breathe.

To exist quietly.

To not feel watched.

But today, someone else was sitting nearby. A girl - leaning over a book with her chin tucked into her palm, her foot tapping a beat on the floor. She glanced up once. He quickly looked down. He hated how fast his heart started beating just from that.

"Do you ever write things you'll never say out loud?" she asked suddenly, not even looking at him.

He looked up slowly, unsure if the question was for him.

She was still reading, her eyes scanning the page, lips barely moving with the words.

He didn't answer. He never did.

She smiled faintly. "You look like someone who does."

He froze. That wasn't judgment. That wasn't teasing. It was just? a statement. Honest. Casual.

That night, he opened his notebook and scribbled something new:

"Someone saw me. Not entirely. But enough."

It wasn't much. But it was the first time he wrote something that felt like a sentence instead of a whisper.