"No, I don't understand, and I don't even want to try to understand. I just—" I cut off mid-sentence, aware I was rambling and had to follow the other woman out of the room and out of Oliver's presence or I would start to cry. With a hand that moved steadier than I felt, I bent and reached out to pick up the backpack I couldn't remember dropping, slung it over my shoulder, turned on my heel, and walked out. Before I could close the door behind me, a firm hand pressed against it. I stopped, sucking air into my lungs like I was about to drown, and I was.

"Lynn, don't be childish. I don't mean anything, understand?"

That was it, the last straw. I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, not caused by embarrassment this time, but by my flaring anger. With a deliberate, slow movement, I turned to face the man who had stolen my heart, broken it, and trampled it with his feet. His boyish good looks and tousled brown hair made my heart skip a beat, but this time, my rage allowed me to ignore his charms.

"Oliver, it might come as a surprise to you, but it sure does mean something to her, and it did mean more than just something to me. And what about your wife? Doesn't she mind that you change your mistresses with every new batch of students while she is about to deliver your second child?" I gulped in more air to calm my temper and shook my head. "Know what? We're done."

This time, he didn't follow me, but while I stalked down the marble stairs, I heard his surprised chuckle, and it hurt worse than anything he could have said to me.

Stupid girl, stupid, stupid, stupid. Why had I come here in the first place? Well, the answer to this was as obvious as it was painful, despite my current attack of self-contempt. Now I had my diploma in my pocket, I should have owned the world. Instead, I felt drawn to my old university because of this man with his cute freckles and charming smile. I should have known it was a bad idea to pay him a surprise visit after the holidays. But then, I should have cut off my relationship with him the moment I learned he was married, and that was more than two months ago. It was beyond me why I didn't.

Because you loved him, silly. I told the tiny voice in the back of my head to call it a day and shut up. If this was how love worked, I didn't want a part of it, never again.

The big oaken doors of the old university building opened for me as if moved by a ghost's hands, and a chilly gust of wind embraced me, carrying tiny snowflakes. I stopped to close my parka and wrap my scarf around my neck, taking a deep breath of the clean winter air. Where should I go from here? I had hoped to pass the evening with Oliver like in the good old times, but this wasn't going to happen.

Never again. I sighed and checked my phone for the time—half-past six. I could walk home. Perhaps the fresh air would help me order my thoughts. Before I could pull the hood over my curls, someone bumped against me from behind. I turned around and faced the blonde I had found with my pitiable ex in the tutor's room. Kissing—him with his hand in her blouse and—I didn't want to remember and banned the picture ingrained in my brain.

Two red spots on her cheeks showed she was still mad at me. "Hey, it's you. What did you think about blasting into a private room like this?"

I didn't even find the energy to tell her that a tutor's room wasn't private. Instead, I studied her elaborate make-up and styled hair. I had seen her around, so she couldn't be a first-year student, but despite her nineteen or twenty years, she seemed so young—but so did all the younger students to me, these days. It was obvious I had spent too much time in this university for my good.

"I didn't blast in, and I knocked first." It was true, but I had also assumed that Oliver would be alone at this time. I couldn't know he had already replaced me three weeks after our messy breakup, right? "Look, I'm sorry I interrupted you. But you might consider locking the door, next time you are taking private lessons."

Her glare threatened to freeze me in place despite my warm parka. "It's none of your business, bitch."

"No, it isn't. Has he told you his wife's second baby is due in a few weeks, though? Or did he forget to mention he's married?"

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I felt sorry for being so cruel. Would I have believed it if someone told me the same three months ago? Probably not, since I had been so engrossed with the man. I sighed, turned, and walked away from my old life as a student, ignoring the temptation to look back over my shoulder. If the woman was sensible, she'd check if my information was true and spare herself a lot of heartache. If not, it wasn't my problem—I had more on my plate than I could handle, anyway.

While I walked down the hill and into the centre of the old town, the billowing clouds reflected the turmoil in my thoughts with every step I took, the roaring rage faded into a thorough tiredness, and my spirits sank even further. Despite the ugly weather, the streets were bustling with commuters on their way home or to the station, carrying briefcases or backpacks, and shoppers hustling along with heavy bags on this Friday evening. Others moved against the stream on their way to an evening out in town, groups of teens and couples with shiny eyes looking at the world as if nothing could separate them in their bliss or prevent them from enjoying a glorious future.

Stop it, girl. I knew I was bitter, but jealousy or mooning over a man I couldn't have—and who didn't care a mite about me—wouldn't bring me healing or make the world a better place for anyone, including me. Besides, at almost twenty-three, I needed a job more than a man. After all, my degree in literature and history didn't help much when I couldn't afford the rent of my tiny apartment without the help of my dad and the leftovers from my student grant. Time to get a grip and grow up, Lynn.

The snow turned to sleet and my right trainer got soggy when I stepped into an icy puddle, adding to my hatred for this day and the world at large. I turned right, deciding to take the bus instead of trudging home, and headed towards the station at the corner by the library. It was only a short walk, but of course, I reached it just in time to see the red taillights of the coach dwindling in the distance. This day kept getting more miserable.

I suppressed a shiver, buried my hands in the pockets of my parka and pressed my back against the stone wall of the building to wait for the next one. It should be only a few minutes, and the protruding roof would protect me from the weather. Two women bundled up against the cold left the library, the older one locking the door before she exchanged a few words with her colleague and they separated ways. Envy made me follow her with my gaze until she disappeared into the after-work crowd. Despite her slow and painful steps, she had sounded so cheerful. Plus, she was old enough to stand about cheating boyfriends, had a job, and seemed to know her place in the world.

I hunched my shoulders against the cold and began walking up and down. Couldn't the bus be punctual for once? All I wanted tonight was to get home, get out of my soggy shoes and clammy clothes, enjoy a hot shower, and cuddle up in my favourite chair with a hot chocolate and a good book. A fireplace would even have been better, but that was another thing on the list of things I couldn't afford.

Besides, this wouldn't change if I didn't write a few more job applications instead of hiding in the pages of a book. But even this prospect looked better with a hot chocolate. Except for the fact I was out of milk—either I had to forgo the hot drink or risk missing the next bus while I rushed across the street and picked up a fresh bottle in the mini market.

My craving for the comfort of my favourite anti-winter-depression beverage won. When I returned to the bus stop, I still had minutes to spare. The flurries of snow became thicker now, adorning the roofs and parked cars with white caps. The streetlights and the headlights of the cars mingled in a hypnotic dance, and I turned to the library to catch a glimpse of the dark interior through one of the tall windows. A faint blueish glow let me make out rows of bookshelves, but not much else. I had never visited the place and wondered if I should. If I didn't find a proper job soon, I wouldn't be able to afford new reading stuff.

A job—my gaze found a handwritten note taped to the interior of the window. I pulled out a tissue to clean my glasses so I could read it. It was short and to the point. "Looking for replacement librarian for eight to ten weeks. Apply at the front desk or call us," followed by a local phone number and, scribbled far less legible and like an afterthought, a mobile number.

Eight to ten weeks was not very long, but this would at least be something to kick off my professional career, right? With a degree in literature, I might even be qualified to hold a job at a library. At least I hoped so, and that my studies wouldn't over-qualify me. The hiss of the bus braking behind me jolted me out of my contemplations. I snatched the phone from my pocket, snapped a picture of the note and hurried to the coach, slipping into the damp heat of its interior a second before the driver could close the doors.

As always at this hour, the bus was crowded, and I squeezed myself into a corner opposite the door, anchoring myself to a holding strap between a burly man in a damp camel-hair coat smelling of stale smoke and two teen girls comparing something on their phones, giggling with the abandon only teenagers know. Right, time to check if I could read the picture of the job note on my screen.

The reflection of the streetlights in the library window made it a hassle to see much, but relief washed over me when I discovered my shadow had fallen on the lower part of the note and I could make out the mobile number. Was the last number a four or a nine? Probably a nine, but chances were fifty-fifty at worst—if I dared to call. Did I? Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? After how this day had developed, the worst that could happen was another rejection.

Only this time it would hurt far less than being dumped by a lover could.