"So, are you even aware that you're the talk of the town, Mr. Library Ghost? Or do you secretly find pleasure in the fact that people think this place is haunted?"

"It is haunted," he responded, sitting in front of me on the floor. "But not by real ghosts. The Eastwood Archives is haunted by people who are still caught between the past and the future, by students who don't know where to go after college, and by adults who wish they'd experienced more in their youth." 

In the middle of his makeshift castle, he looked more like a kid than an adult. I found myself taken aback by his words, but I kept my cool, lowering my gaze to flip the pages of a random Philippine history book I found a few feet away.

"And which one are you? A student or an adult?"

The Library Ghost laughed. It was a rich sound, filling the void with a certain warmth that I didn't know was possible. A genuine and reassuring laugh that makes you think there isn't a dangerous world outside this building.

It was contagious, but I remained reserved.

"Well, if this is your way of indirectly asking my age, I refuse to humor you, Sleeping Beauty. The best books don't reveal everything about a character within the first few pages. It takes away the mystery."

I scoffed, "You sound like a hundred-year-old literature guru. Are you sure you're not the reincarnation of Shakespeare?"

"No, but thank you for the compliment."

I can hear the smile in his voice.

Rolling my eyes, I let the silence between us do the talking. It was hard to concentrate on the words, so I started noticing objects on the periphery of my vision. That was when a large glass jar caught my attention. It was wedged between stacks of books, poorly concealed from plain sight.

"What's that?"

The library ghost followed my line of sight. I don't know if I'm just imagining things, but he visibly froze on the spot. A moment later, he hesitantly reached to take it out, lifting it between us so I could get a better view of it. He pressed a small button, lighting up the inside of the jar with the same yellow fairy lights that decorated his territory, like fireflies trapped inside it.

I can see the paper cranes cramped inside the jar.

"It's something that I doubt you'll be interested in," he began. "It's... a bit personal."

"It's just paper cranes?"

"There's a story behind this, just like there's a story behind everything else in this world."

Unconvinced, I reached out to take the jar from him in hopes of a closer inspection, but he immediately cowered away and placed it back in its hiding place. I sighed, knowing we were both just getting used to this: trusting strangers in the most bizarre ways imaginable.

I cleared my throat and changed the subject.

"I'm Ebony, by the way. In case we meet each other again, you won't need to think of fancy nicknames for me, like Sleeping Beauty."

The Library Ghost stared at me for a second before nodding. "You can call me Ronan, so you won't need to call me Library Ghost like everyone else."

Ronan.

"This is the first time I've seen you here, Ebony," Ronan suddenly commented, as if he were waiting for the right moment to state the obvious. It then makes me wonder how long he has been haunting the Eastwood Archives at night. He sat upright and asked, "Did you just move here?"

"What makes you think I'm a transferee?" I asked, waiting for him to take the bait.

"Well, I'm a local. I mean, I've been born in Eastwood, grew up in Eastwood, and would probably pass away in old age in Eastwood."

I knew it. So that means he basically knows everyone at this point, or he's probably familiar with their faces. With the way he's lowering his head like that and shyly avoiding my gaze, I doubt he's the type to hang out and talk to random people. In simple words, Ronan doesn't seem like an extrovert.

This is just an unfortunate event for both of us.

"Hey, umm... you don't need to pretend you're reading that book, Ebony."

I jolted when Ronan called me out, in the nicest way possible. It was more like stating a fact than anything else. There wasn't any judgment in his voice. Just pure confusion. I sighed and finally put the book down, smiling at him sheepishly.

"How did you know?"

He shrugged. "I've been reading books long enough to know when someone is reading and when someone is just flipping the pages to look like they're reading."

"So when you found me last night, what were your thoughts?"

He paused for a moment. "Considering you're a student, with that essay and school bag you carried, I'm guessing you need to read for an assignment."

"A book review," I admitted. "But as you can guess already, I'm not much of a reader, so it feels like a death sentence. I don't even know what books I like. To make matters worse, I can't find any audiobooks on it."

"Listening isn't exactly reading," Ronan commented. "But I know people have different opinions on this. As long as we consume literature all the same, hey, no one has the right to judge your preferences."

I smiled. Ronan seems like one of those few people who has his own opinions and outlooks on life but keeps an open mind to accept the different perspectives of others. If only other people had his mindset, it would've saved the world from an onslaught of war and crime.

Aside from that, he speaks his mind. He has a nice voice, I have to admit. The kind that can either lull you to sleep or make you listen attentively...

Wait. That's it!

"Hey, Ronan? I know we've just met... and this might sound pretty crazy. Oh, screw it. This is crazy."

Ronan sat upright, as if curious about what I was going to say. I took a deep breath and shot, "Do you think you can help me with the book review? I mean, I need some recommendations, and you seem like the kind of human who reads as a hobby. And umm, if it's not too much, can I also request that you read it to me?"

I closed my eyes in embarrassment. I could feel his gaze on me, and at that moment I just wanted to say, "It's a prank!" or hide behind the nearby bookshelves.

But to my surprise, Ronan responded, "It would be my pleasure to help you with your book review, Ebony. Besides, it's not like I do anything much in here anyway." He glanced at his miniature fortress of books and said, "I've got a lot of time to kill before..."

"Before?"

He waved a hand in dismissal. "Nothing. But since this is a mutual agreement, it needs to be beneficial to both parties."

I smiled, knowing what he meant.

"I hope you accept benefits in the form of cookies, then."

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