By Christina Taylor
Every day he chooses the same window seat. Sitting apart, he watches the bespectacled librarians ignore him. Sometimes he hunches over the desk pretending to read Shakespeare or Chaucer. More often, he does The Sun crossword, hiding it between the pages of The Times.
After a month he plucks up the courage to slip me his number. I catch his eye; the scarlet blush illuminates his translucent skin.
‘You’re not like the other librarians.’
I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m the cleaner. When he’s gone I crumple the paper into the bin with all the other broken hearts.
Nice twist in the end. Great.
Wonderful story. I loved the setting – libraries, my favourite!
I grew up in libraries – my dad was a librarian. I wonder if he ever had admirers? Lovely!
That must be some cleaner!
Great story, Christina. Love the twist at the end. Poor guy. 🙂