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Kyle circled around the far end of the aisle, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. He didn't want to approach directly from Leo's line of sight—no need to make the boy more nervous than he already was. The library's layout worked in his favor: tall shelves, angled reading nooks, a mezzanine that cast shadows over the main floor.

He moved like someone who belonged here. Not sneaking, not creeping, just walking. Students glanced up occasionally, then returned to their books. The initial stir of his entrance had faded. He was just another person in a room full of people.

He passed a shelf of Renaissance art monographs, then a display of student sculptures—small bronze pieces mounted on pedestals. And then he saw her.

The corner near the stained-glass window.

The light fell across her like something from a painting. Gold and amber and soft blue, filtering through the glass, catching the edge of her dark hair. She was hunched over a stack of books, a pencil tucked behind her ear, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"That's her."

Kyle didn't need to check the photograph Nakamura had given him, he knew it the way he knew his own reflection. The sharp cheekbones, the way she held her shoulders, the intensity in her eyes even when they were focused on a page.

She wasn't paying attention to anything around her. The world could have collapsed into flame, and she would have kept reading.

"She has no idea I'm here."

Kyle approached slowly, not wanting to startle her. He stopped a few feet from her table, close enough to speak without raising his voice, far enough to give her space.

"Excuse me."

Maya didn't look up. Her pencil scratched across her notebook.

"Excuse me," Kyle said again, slightly louder.

She lifted her head and her eyes met his.

And for a long moment—seconds that felt like minutes—she just looked at him.

No smile, no frown, not even a hint of recognition, no suspicion. Just… looking. Like she was trying to place him, or maybe just taking him in. Her gaze traveled from his face to his shoulders, then back to his eyes.

Kyle held still. He had learned patience in rooms far more dangerous than a library. He could wait.

Inside Maya, something else was happening.

"Oh my God."

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her stomach flipped. Her fingers tightened around her pencil until the wood creaked.

"Who is this?"

He was tall. That was the first thing. Tall and lean, with shoulders that looked like they belonged on a runway or a movie poster. His jaw was sharp, his skin clear, his eyes the kind that seemed to pull you in. His clothes were simple—dark jeans, a grey t-shirt, a jacket that fit him perfectly—but nothing about him was simple.

"I haven't seen anyone this well put together in a long time."

She thought about the boys at school. The paint-stained hoodies, the scuffed boots, the perpetual smell of turpentine. She thought about Leo, hovering nearby, his desperation practically a cologne.

This man was none of those things.

"He's handsome. Really handsome. Like, annoyingly handsome."

But Maya didn't react. Not outwardly. Her face remained neutral, almost bored. She had learned years ago that showing interest was a weakness. Boys—men—took a single smile as an invitation. A single glance as a promise.

"I'm not going to drop my panties just because he has good bone structure."

She returned her gaze to her book.

No. She forced herself to look back down at the page, at Bernini's Ecstasy, at the dense academic prose that had consumed her moments ago. The words blurred. She wasn't reading. She was pretending to read.

"Act normal. He's just a person. A very attractive person who appeared out of nowhere and is now standing at my table like he owns the place."

The thing about this was, just because she found him attractive didn't mean she was attracted to him, at least not in a sexual way.

She looked up again.

"Do I know you?" Maya asked.

Her voice was flat. Not hostile, not friendly. Just… neutral.

Kyle smiled—not too wide, not too small. Just enough to be disarming.

"No," he said. "But I was hoping we could talk."

"About what?"

"About someone you used to know."

Maya's brow furrowed. She set her pencil down and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. Defensive, but curious.

"I don't remember much about 'used to know,'" she said. "And I'm busy."

"I can see that." Kyle glanced at the stack of books—Baroque sculpture, Italian art history, a dog-eared copy of Vasari's Lives of the Artists.

"You're an art history student."

"That's not a secret."

"No, it's not." Kyle pulled out the chair across from her. "May I?"

Maya hesitated. Every instinct told her to say no. To tell him to leave. To go back to her reading and forget this strange, handsome man had ever appeared.

But something stopped her. Something she couldn't name.

"Curiosity," she realized. "I'm curious."

She gave a small nod.

Kyle sat down.

The table was small—just big enough for two people and a spread of books. His knees almost touched hers under the wood. He kept his hands on the table, open, non-threatening.

"So," Maya said, picking up her pencil again. Not to write—just to have something to hold. "Who are you?"

"My name is Kyle."

"Kyle what?"

"Just Kyle."

She snorted. "Just Kyle. That's not suspicious at all."

"It's not a fake name, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't asking." She tapped the pencil against her notebook. "You said you wanted to talk about someone I used to know."

"Yes."

"Who?"

Kyle took a breath. He had rehearsed this a dozen times in his head, but now, sitting across from her, the words felt heavy.

"Someone who called you something else," he said carefully. "Before you were Maya."

The pencil stopped tapping.

Maya's expression didn't change, but her eyes did. They went sharp, alert, the way an animal's eyes go when it senses a predator.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

"You're wrong."

"Am I?" Kyle leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice low. "You don't remember anything about before? A house? A man's voice? A name that isn't Maya?"

Maya's jaw tightened. Her fingers gripped the pencil so hard her knuckles went white.

"How does he know about that?"

She had never told anyone about the fragments. Not her parents. Not Leo. Not the therapist the school had suggested after her adoption. The memories were hers—hers alone—and she had buried them deep.

"Who is this man?"

"Leave," Maya said.

Kyle didn't move.

"I said leave!"

"I will," Kyle said. "But first, I need you to know something."

"What?"

"Someone has been looking for you. For years. And they're not going to stop."

Maya stared at him. Her heart was pounding again, but this time not from attraction. It was fear.

"I don't know who you're talking about," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I think you do," Kyle said again. "I think somewhere inside you, there's a memory of a life you do not quite remember. You do not need to run from it,"

Maya looked away. Her eyes burned with frustration as she recalled the dream she has been having for quite sometime now.

"I don't run from anything," she said.

"Then why are you trying to make me leave?"

She didn't answer.

Kyle sat back, giving her space. The stained-glass light shifted as clouds passed outside. The library hummed with silence.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Kyle said. "I'm here to give you a choice."

"What choice?"

"To learn the truth. Or to stay exactly where you are."

Maya picked up her pencil again. Her hands were shaking.

"I have studying to do," she said.

Kyle nodded. He stood up, pushed his chair back, and looked down at her.

"I'll be in this café tomorrow morning," he said. "Nine o'clock. If you want to know more, come find me." Kyle scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to her, this left it all to her but Kyle had established that the information Nakamura had given him was correct.

He turned and walked away. Kyle knew it was best to push because there was a high chance it would affect him

Maya watched him go, her pencil frozen above her notebook.

"What the hell just happened?"

She hadn't read a single sentence since he sat down.

-

Leo watched Kyle disappear through the library doors. His chest tightened. Every instinct told him to run after Maya, to demand answers, to stake his claim before some handsome stranger swept her off her feet.

"That would look desperate."

Even Leo knew that, he had already tried the direct approach—twice. Maya had turned him down both times, gently but firmly. Running to her now, breathless and jealous, would only make things worse.

"So what do I do?"

He kissed his teeth, a sharp sound of frustration. Then he did something he never thought he would do.

"I will follow him."

Leo slipped out the side exit, staying low, staying behind pillars. The stranger—Kyle, walked with easy confidence, hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed.

"He has no idea I'm following him."

Except Kyle did.

He had registered Leo's movement the moment the boy slipped through the door. The footsteps were too hesitant, too careful. Not a threat, just a kid playing spy.

"Pretend not to notice."

Kyle walked past the fountain, past the sculpture garden, toward the iron gates. Leo stayed twenty paces back, ducking behind a tree, then a bench, then a hedge.

"This feels so wrong," Leo thought. "I'm a stalker. I'm actually a stalker."

Kyle turned a corner—a sharp bend near the old carriage house. Leo hurried to catch up, rounded the corner too fast, and slammed directly into Kyle's chest.

Kyle didn't move. Leo stumbled back, his face pale.

"Is there a problem, young man?" Kyle asked. His voice was calm, almost amused.

Leo's mouth opened but no words came out, his hands went up like he was being arrested.

"I—I'm sorry—I wasn't following you, I promise—"

"Ah." Kyle nodded slowly. "I see. Then I guess we have no problem."

Leo exhaled.

Kyle turned to walk away, then paused. "Also, word of advice. If you want her to like you, you need to stop acting like a child."

Leo's brain short-circuited. "Wait! How did you know I like her? I mean, I don't—"

Kyle stopped in his tracks.

"Too easy."

"Is that so?" Kyle didn't turn around. "Too bad. I would have given you some advice. Real advice. The kind that actually works. But I guess there's no need for that either."

He took a step.

"Wait!"

Kyle waited.

Leo's shoulders sagged. His pride crumbled. "Fine. How do I do it? How do I get her to notice me?"

Kyle turned slowly, a small smile playing on his lips.

"First, stop following people. It's creepy."

Leo winced. "Noted."

"Second, stop hovering. She knows you're there, she's not blind. She's choosing to ignore you because you make her uncomfortable."

Leo looked like he had been punched.

"Third—" Kyle stepped closer, lowering his voice. "She's not a prize to be won. She's a person, talk to her like one. Ask her about her art, not about her feelings. Listen more than you speak."

Leo swallowed. "That's… actually good advice."

"I know." Kyle patted him on the shoulder. "Now go home. And don't follow me again."

He turned and walked through the gates.

Leo stood there, frozen, watching him disappear.

"C-Can I have your number?" Leo questioned, he knew right away this man could give him pointers to win over Maya if he stood a chance at all.

Kyle handed him a card before disappearing into the distance.