I was scared to ask him, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

"Now kiss me here; then here."

I raised my eyes to meet Ronan's, my heart thrumming against my chest, a gentle reminder that I was in his presence. Did I hear him right? Oh, God. Those rich brown eyes stared at me for far too long, making me wonder what he saw in me. For the longest time, I thought I was just a passerby—an afterthought, an option. Someone people looked at for a few seconds before searching for prettier things.

But Ronan...

"Ebony, are you still listening? We can take a break if you need."

Then it hit me. He just read a line from the book. And here I thought it was something else! Oh, the embarrassment!

Still, Ronan started at me worriedly.

I couldn't help but notice...

"Why are you staring at me with those eyes?"

"What eyes?"

I jolted in my seat, realizing I had just voiced that. I wanted to sink into the ground and pretend I hadn’t said anything to incriminate myself.

I cleared my throat, attempting to act cool.

"Eyes that tell me I'm the prettiest person you've ever laid your gaze on. Surely, I can't be that stunning?" I laughed, gesturing to my outfit: a plain t-shirt and boyfriend jeans I’d pulled from my closet that morning. I kept reminding myself to drop by the laundry services; at this rate, I'd have nothing to wear. And the Ghost Festival was tomorrow! Shit. What if...

"But you are."

Ronan's voice pulled me from my thoughts. Noticing my confusion, the Library Ghost chuckled and closed the book he was reading to give me his full attention.

"You are the prettiest person I've ever laid my eyes upon, Ebony. And that's saying something because I see a lot of people come and go in this library."

At this point, I didn’t know if my heart could beat any faster.

I melted at Ronan's words. Truly, this man had a way with stringing together the perfect words at the perfect moment. But I had to shy away and blurt out something random I had read on a paper crane he kept in the now half-empty jar. As the end was nearing, I realized we had displayed most of the cranes on the wall—remnants of the many things he had given up on.

Now these paper cranes symbolize Ronan setting himself free.

"Haven't you written 'romance writer' in one of these? You sound like one now. Maybe you should pick it up again."

I gingerly reached for the jar between us. My heart ached at the thought that Ronan's list included so many normal things that he had given up as impossible: going to the grocery store to buy every potato chip on display (we had accomplished that just hours before), learning pottery (pretty random, but I found the cheapest class on campus scheduled for Saturday—of course, I wouldn’t tell him I was paying), and waiting for the sunrise outdoors (easy enough to drag him out later).

Not once had I considered: what was Ronan's life like that he had to give up so many simple things?

That just added to the pile of questions I couldn't ask him. Even knowing he wouldn't push me away or be offended, I wanted to respect the little privacy he had outside our midnight rendezvous.

"Why a romance writer, though? Aren't guys like you more into... I don't know, science fiction?"

"Like Star Wars?"

"Yes. Or that high fantasy stuff with kingdoms and magical creatures?"

"Game of Thrones, The Hobbit..." I could tell Ronan was amused by my lack of specificity since I wasn’t really a fan of literature.

"Or horror and creepy stuff?"

"Ah," he laughed. "You mean the works of Edgar Allan Poe, Stephen King, and probably even Tim Burton."

I pretended to know who those were, nodding as I held the paper crane in front of us, letting him read the words "ROMANCE WRITER" clearly.

"So, why romance?"

Ronan shrugged as if this was the first time he ever considered the question. "Why not romance? Romance is underrated."

"Romance is dead."

"No it isn't," he patiently replied with a smile. "Most of the poets are dead, but the soul of their words reflecting on experiences of love and loss are very much alive until this day. Romance is what keeps humanity sane, thriving amid adversary and that is why some people chase after it. Some die for it. Some live for it. Some look all around the world just to get a glimpse of it. Meanwhile, some are struck by it even when they're just lying on the couch one uneventful afternoon. Love has a peculiar way of meeting you in the oddest time and place—even when you least expect it to cross paths with you."

Wow. Just... wow. I always knew Ronan had a mature mindset with a touch of theatrics, but hearing his view on love was something else. In a society where men often toss away hearts, this pure soul sheltered his perception of it.

"Have you ever been in love? You speak so highly of it, as if... as if you’ve never been a victim."

To my surprise, he answered immediately.

"I haven't. Well, I shall remain a fool in denial until the day I write her name on the dedication page of my first published book."

I blinked. He laughed at my confusion before standing up and gesturing to the piles of paper I suspected he secretly kept hidden behind a nearby bookshelf—the same pile I often found him writing on late at night when he thought I was asleep.

"I've actually made progress on my writing," he admitted sheepishly, revealing a striped long-sleeved shirt peeking from under the blanket. "A burst of inspiration can do wonders for someone who expresses himself through written words."

"Can I read it?"

Ronan quickly pulled the pile away from me.

"You're not even into reading?"

"You're an exception... I mean, your words are an exception!" I silently kicked myself. Ronan was an exception for many things in my life.

"Someday," he answered cryptically. "Someday when it's ready."

"And when will that be?"

"Who knows... A writer should never be rushed, Ebony."

I rolled my eyes as he playfully patted my head. I turned back to the paper crane, picking it up from the floor, taking out our adhesive tape, and eyeing the wall of paper cranes—the things we had set free from the jar.

"I guess we can take this out then. Fly high, little crane. May your owner be the most successful romance writer of this generation," I pressed my lips to the folded paper before sticking it to the wall with the others. A silent wish. My eyes softened at how far Ronan and I had come from being strangers.

That was when I noticed the Library Ghost staring at me as if watching a rare scene. Unfazed, I smiled and tucked several strands of hair behind my ear. His eyes lingered, following my every movement like a devotee.

"So, umm... let's get back to reading?"

That snapped him out of his daze. I wished I could fully see his face under that white blanket, to memorize his expression. But every time I tried to imagine him, River kept appearing in my mind.

"Ronan?"

I couldn’t help it. My curiosity was killing me. What if Ronan was actually River? What if I had been interacting with him outside the library all this time? What if this was the real reason he never showed his face to me?

"What is it, Ebony? Is something on your mind?"

The worry in his voice made me wish my suspicions were wrong. I could hear the resemblance in his voice, but people can change their voices, right? Am I overthinking this?

I treaded carefully, slowly implying...

"Thanks for the cup of coffee."

He had to remember. He had to know what I was talking about.

To my surprise, Ronan nodded. "It was nothing. I figured you needed it after a long evening."

Here goes nothing.

"Yeah," I sheepishly agreed. "But I really don't know why you would go out of your way to leave it in my locker when you could have just handed it to me yourself, River."

With that, Ronan's eyes widened for a fraction.

And I couldn’t read them. Why can't I read his thoughts the same way he reads mine? This isn't fair at all.

Maybe life isn't meant to be fair—not all the time.

Not when Ronan suddenly turned around, returning to his seat and lifting the book in a silent invitation to finish our session.

"Maybe I can be a mystery writer too, Ebony. Who knows? One day you'll understand."

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