Jorell’s hands move with reverent precision, fingertips brushing the cool, curved porcelain that glints beneath the library’s fractured gold light. His coat—black, perfectly tailored—pulls tight across his shoulders as he lifts the fragile bust to inspect its hairline cracks. A breath catches near the shelves, soft and sharp. He turns, jaw tense, but his eyes widen with something raw when he sees her.

Selene stands half in shadow, loose cardigan slipping down a bare arm, hair tumbling in soft defiance across her cheek. She hugs a stack of old poetry books, clutching them so tightly her knuckles blanch. Her gaze flickers from the sculpture to his face—dark eyes warm with curiosity, lips parted as if holding in a secret. She inhales, slow and shaky, and steps deeper into the dim, toes barely scuffing on the parquet.

Their eyes lock. The silence is alive—every heartbeat impossibly loud. Jorell cannot look away as Selene sets her books down, fingers trembling, and drifts forward. He stretches out his hand, an unconscious plea, and she hesitates, then surrenders, sliding her palm over his. Her skin is cool and impossibly soft, the contact sending a tremor through both of them. They share a breath, their faces so close he can see the quiver of her lashes, the faintest sheen on her lower lip.

“People always want to touch the fragile things,” she whispers, her voice trembling on the edge of laughter and confession. Jorell’s thumb grazes her wrist, deliberate, possessive. “Some things,” he murmurs, “crack if you look too close.” Sudden heat flares as his thumb circles in slow, hypnotic promise.

A porcelain figurine glimmers between them. Selene’s free hand hovers above it, nervous. He guides her—his hand over hers, their bodies brushing as she learns the right pressure, the careful grip. The tension is electric; Jorell’s breath curls against her ear, and Selene shivers, chest rising as her cardigan falls further down. Her eyes flick to his mouth; desire and fear war across her face. In the hush, the world shrinks to their hands, their bodies, their hunger.

Jorell’s control falters—his mouth grazes her temple, breath hot, confessional. Selene’s lips part and his name spills out, hushed, as if it’s forbidden. His fingers tighten on her waist, desperate and unsure. The library seems to pulse around them, every shadow urging them closer. She almost kisses him—almost—but pulls back, eyes wide with panic and longing. He searches her face, aching, but the moment shatters as her phone vibrates in her pocket.

Selene jerks away, eyes darting. She fumbles for her phone, breath ragged, cheeks flushed. Jorell stands frozen, chest rising and falling, every muscle taut with want and regret. She glances at the screen—her entire body locks up, shoulders hunched as if against a blow. He steps toward her, voice a whisper. “Selene…” Her eyes meet his—tears shimmer, pleading him not to ask.

She backs away, hair spilling forward to hide her face. “I—I have to go,” she stammers, collects her books with trembling hands, and flees the library, leaving the scent of lavender and the ghost of her touch hanging in the air.

Jorell stands amid the scattered light, fist pressed to his lips, as if he can hold in every unspoken need.

Just outside, Selene stares at her phone, the message burning into her retinas: Don’t forget why you’re there.

To be continued...