Stories of longing. Stories of life. Stories of echoes that refuse to fade and strife that carves its name into the soul. Each tale a whisper from the past, a flicker of hope, a shadow stretching toward the light.
Here, words linger like forgotten melodies, and every story is a heartbeatโaching, yearning, alive.
Read on, if you dare to listen to the echoes.
basically, a fancy few lines to say, a place for short stories...
Emery loved the quiet hush of the library, the way it wrapped around her like a favourite sweater. Shelves towered around her, their spines lined like old friends whispering secrets only she could understand. It was safe here. Predictable.
And then he started coming in.
At first, it was just a glance over the circulation desk, a polite smile exchanged with the same ease she gave any other patron. But then it became a patternโTobias Merrick, tall, dark, and exuding an easy confidence, began frequenting her library at odd hours. Always just before closing, always lingering in the aisles she was shelving.
It wasn't just his presence that unsettled her. It was the way he watched herโcurious, patient, as if he were studying the way she moved. Not predatory, not intrusiveโฆ but intense.
One evening, as she slid a book into place, she felt him before she saw him. His voice was low, smooth.
"You always seem to know exactly where everything goes."
She glanced over her shoulder, startled. "That's my job."
His lips quirked. "That must be niceโknowing where everything belongs."
The words sent an odd, warm shiver through her. She turned fully, trying to steady herself against the pull of him. "Are you looking for something specific?"
His gaze flickered to the book in her hands. Wuthering Heights. A faint smile ghosted his lips. "Maybe I already found it."
A silence stretched between them, charged with something unspoken. She swallowed. This was dangerous. This felt dangerous. And yet, the next time he came in, she found herself waiting.
Days passed. Then weeks. The exchanges grew longer, filled with teasing, with questions that hovered between flirtation and something deeper. He started bringing her coffee, setting it wordlessly on the desk as he slid a book across the counter. His fingers would brush hers, just slightly, just enough to make her breath hitch.
And then there was the night of the storm.
Thunder cracked outside, rattling the windows as she pushed the last cart into place. Tobias was the only one left, leaning against the poetry section, a book open in his hands. When she approached, he didn't move, didn't speak, just let his gaze trail over her like a whisper of fingertips.
"You know," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain, "I've been coming here for weeks, hoping you'd give me a reason to stay longer."
She exhaled sharply, her pulse racing. "And what reason would that be?"
He reached out, his fingers skimming the sleeve of her cardigan, just a breath of contact, but enough to send heat rushing through her.
"You tell me."
Her heart pounded, her body thrumming with awareness. The library was supposed to be her sanctuary, her escape. But with him standing so close, the air thick with tension, she realized something startlingโ
She wasn't sure if it was the storm outside or the storm inside her that felt more powerful. The library lights flickered as thunder rolled through the sky, but it was Tobias standing before her that made her stomach twist with something foreign, something terrifyingly alive.
She could still feel the ghost of his touch on her sleeve, light as it had been. It was absurd how such a simple thing could unravel her.
"What are you doing?" she finally asked, her voice quieter than she intended.
Tobias's lips curved, but not in amusement. It was something softer, something she wasn't sure she was ready to name.
"I'm waiting," he said.
"For what?"
"For you to decide."
She swallowed, hard. There was a weight to those words, something that pressed into the small space between them. Tobias had never pushed, never demanded. But now, she could feel itโthe slow, deliberate way he had been giving her space to figure him out.
And maybe she had, in the secret corners of her mind, in the way her pulse skipped whenever she saw him leaning against the shelves, casually flipping through books he barely read.
Maybe she'd always known.
She stepped back, her fingers grazing the rough spine of a nearby book for balance. "You confuse me," she admitted.
His head tilted slightly. "How so?"
"I don't know what you want."
Tobias exhaled, slow and measured, as if choosing his words carefully. Then he took a step closerโnot enough to crowd her, just enough for her to catch the scent of him, a mixture of rain and something warm, something utterly male.
"I think you do," he murmured.
Her breath hitched.
The lights flickered again, casting shadows across his sharp features. She searched his face, trying to decipher what exactly it was that had drawn him to her. She wasn't extraordinary. She wasn't the kind of woman men wrote poetry about. She was quiet. Sheltered. She lived between pages instead of in the world.
But the way he looked at her made her feel like something worth waiting for.
"You make me nervous," she confessed.
His lips twitched. "Good."
Her eyes narrowed. "That's not very nice."
"It's honest." He lifted a hand slightly, hesitated, then let it fall. "You're very good at hiding," he said. "I think you've been doing it for a long time."
The words landed deep, threading through her ribcage. He sees me. The thought both terrified and thrilled her.
She straightened her spine, resisting the instinct to retreat. "And you?" she challenged. "You come here, night after night, lurking in the aisles. What are you hiding from?"
Tobias's expression didn't change, but something in his gaze darkened, deepened.
"I came here looking for peace," he admitted. "But I stayed because of you."
Emery's lips parted, but no words came.
The library around them was empty, the outside world muted by the rain. It felt as though the entire universe had condensed into this one moment, this one fragile thread of possibility.
Tobias reached out again, this time slowly, deliberately, until his fingers found the cuff of her cardigan. He didn't pull. Didn't hold. Just a touch. A question.
"I won't push," he said softly. "But if you want me to stop coming hereโif you want me to stop thisโtell me, and I will."
A lump formed in her throat. He was giving her control, handing her the choice on a silver platter. And yet, her body screamed at her to do the opposite of what was safe.
She didn't move for a long moment. Then, hesitantly, she turned her wrist just enough so his fingers brushed her skin. The touch was featherlight, barely there, but it sent a bolt of heat racing up her arm.
"I don't want you to stop," she whispered.
Tobias inhaled sharply, as if her words had physically affected him. His fingers curled, just slightly, around her wrist. A small, silent acknowledgement.
The space between them shrank, not because of anything dramatic, but because of something far more dangerousโunderstanding.
He leaned in, his voice a breath against her temple. "Then I won't."
A shiver coursed through her, but this time, she didn't pull away.
The air between them grew thick, heavy with something unnamed and undeniable. Emery could hear her heartbeat, an erratic rhythm hammering in time with the steady drips of rain on the library windows.
His fingers, warm and deliberate, lingered against her wrist. He didn't move any closer, didn't force anything, but his presence was an anchor, tethering her to this moment, this slow, unravelling.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he murmured.
Feeling the way his voice curled around her like smoke, she swallowed. How could she possibly put it into words? How was she to explain that she wasn't used to being noticed? That the weight of his attention both terrified and thrilled her? That she felt like she was standing on the edge of the vast unknown, and yet, for once, she didn't want to step back?
"IโI don't know," she admitted, breathlessly. "I feel like..." She hesitated, the words fragile on her tongue.
His thumb traced the inside of her wrist, the barest of touches, but it sent a spark racing though her veins.
"Like what?" he coaxed, his voice, low, patient.
Her lips parted, a shiver running down her spine. "Like if I let this happen, I won't be able to stop..."
He inhaled sharply, his grip tightening, not enough to hold her there, but enough to tell her he felt it too.
"Then don't stop," he said simply.
A single breath...
A single choice...
Emery tilted her head, studying the way the light and shadow danced across his face. He wasn't jut beautifulโhe was deliberate, the kind of man who didn't make empty gestures or promises. And right now, every fibre of him was focused on her, waiting for her to make her next move.
The realization sent a rush of heat through her.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered.
A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Do what?"
She exhaled sharply, frustrated at his teasing. "You know what I mean."
Tobias chuckled, the sound deep and smooth, like whiskey on a cold night. "Emery," he said, his voice steady, "I'm not asking for anything you don't want to give." His fingers traced a featherlight path up her arm, sending ripples of sensation in their wake. "We can move as slow as you want. Or, we can stay exactly like this."
But that was the problem.
She didn't want to stay like this...
She wanted to know what it felt like to be touched with purpose.
To leat her self... want.
She took a slow step forward, shrinking the space between them until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His breath caughtโjust barelyโbut she noticed, and the sound sent a thrill through her.
"Slow doesn't mean I don't want," she murmured.
His jaw tightened as he let out a shaky breath. His fingers skimmed higher, brushing the delicate skin of her inner elbow, his touch careful but unrelenting. He was waiting, still letting her lead, but his restraint was beginning to fray at the edges.
"You're going to ruin me," he murmured, almost to himself.
Emery's lips parted, a delicious kind of power unfurling in her chest.
She lifted a hand, hesitantly at first, but when she pressed her palm agains his chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath her fingertips, he let out a low, ragged exhale.
"I think," she whispered, "you are already ruined..."
His eyes darkened, a quiet unspoken promise flickering in their depths.
And thenโhe moved.
Not harshly, not suddenly, but deliberately. His fingers ghosted up her arm, tracing a slow, reverent path until they reached her collarbone, his thumb brushing just beneath the neckline of her sweater. His other hand came up, hovering just beside her waist, not quite touching, but so close.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He leaned in, the warmth of his breath teasing her lips. "If you don't stop me now," he murmured, voice like velvet and sin, "I won't be able to..."
A challenge.
A warning...
And yet, her fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt. Holding him there.
"I don't want to stop you..."
Letting out a quiet curse, his restraint shattering.
And thenโfinallyโhis lips brushed hers.
Not hard. Not demanding. Just a slow, devastating press, his mouth lingering like he was memorizing the way she felt beneath him. His fingers tightened on her waist, and she gasped softly against his lips, allowing him to deepen the kiss, to taste her like she was something he'd been waiting for.
It was slow. It was delicious. And it was absolutely, maddeningly inevitable.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breathing unsteady.
"Tell me this isn't a mistake," she whispered, her fingers still curled in his shirt.
His hands flexed against her hips, his voice rough. "Not even close."
Emery closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the feeling.
Maybe, just maybe, she'd finally found something she didn't want to hide from.
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