Chapter 2: "The Library, Books, and the Unspoken Sounds"

The library.

For many people, a library is just a place to borrow, return books, or look up references. But for me, Suzuki Yuuto, the library is much more than that. It is a place. A sanctuary. Another world.

After a long, tedious day at school—the "stage" full of noise and chaos, where everyone has to play some role, where conversations feel empty, emotions seem fake, and social rules are so complicated that I can never truly understand them—the library is where I find peace, silence, and truth.

Stepping through the heavy wooden doors, leaving behind the cacophony of everyday life, I feel as if I'm shedding an invisible burden. No more loud chatter, no more scrutinizing gazes, no more forced small talk filled with empty formalities. Only silence. And the scent. The scent of old paper, ink, aged wood… all blending together to form a calming, familiar fragrance. It is nothing like the overwhelming mix of sweat, perfume, and leftover food in the school cafeteria—a place so suffocating that just thinking about it makes me want to run away.

Today, the school library seems even quieter than usual. Only a few scattered figures sit at reading tables hidden behind towering bookshelves. Each person is immersed in their own world—flipping pages, scanning words, absorbing knowledge.

Good. The fewer people there are, the quieter the space becomes, and the more at ease I feel.

I slowly walk toward my usual seat in the farthest corner of the library, right next to the window. It's my personal "territory"—a place where I can sit for hours without fear of being disturbed. A place bathed in soft, natural light—just enough to read comfortably without straining my eyes. A place where I can gaze outside, watching the sky, the trees, the world.

Sitting down on the wooden chair, the first thing I do is not open a book—but take out my familiar notebook.

A spiral-bound notebook with a dark brown leather cover, worn with time. This is not an ordinary diary—one where people jot down daily events, feelings, or confessions. No, this is my living record. A place where I document all my observations, thoughts, and ideas about the world around me.

I flip through the pages, filled with neat, meticulous handwriting, occasionally accompanied by hurried, clumsy sketches.

"Date… Sparrow: Completed its morning ritual in 3 minutes and 27 seconds (need to monitor for seasonal variations?)."

"Date… White butterfly: Flight pattern follows the shape of an 8 (but possibly affected by wind direction?)."

"Date… Girl sitting in front of me in class: Frowned at a 15-degree angle (sign of curiosity, irritation, or…?)."

...And on the most recent page, I had written:

"Date… School cafeteria: Noisy, chaotic. People = a colony of ants (?)."

"Date… The note on my desk: ??? (Should investigate further, or just forget about it?)."

I frown slightly as I reread the last line. That note... It still lingers in my mind, no matter how much I try to ignore it. A folded piece of paper, written in an unfamiliar handwriting, left carelessly on my desk...

(A prank by my classmates? A message from someone? A confession? A challenge? Or just… a discarded scrap of paper?)

(And more importantly, why am I even bothered by it? Does it really matter? Or am I just wasting my time on something trivial?)

I sigh and close my notebook. Perhaps I will never find the answer. Perhaps the answer doesn't even matter.

I take out the book I've chosen for today: The Marvelous World of Insects. To many, this might seem like a dull, even strange choice. But for me, it's a doorway to another world—a world where order, laws, and beauty exist naturally, untainted by human biases, emotions, or schemes.

Today, I'm reading about ants. These tiny creatures, yet they possess an incredibly complex society—with rules, duties, and mysteries that humans, even now, have yet to fully comprehend.

...

As I become engrossed in reading about how worker ants build their nests, how soldier ants defend their territory, how the queen governs an entire kingdom… I suddenly feel it.

A gaze.

It's a faint sensation, barely noticeable, but unmistakable.

Not the kind of gaze that comes with judgment or scrutiny—the kind I often endure at school. No, this one feels… different.

(Am I imagining things? Or have I become overly sensitive from constantly observing my surroundings?)

Still, I decide to lift my head. (Not suddenly, not hastily. But slowly, carefully, so as not to disturb the sacred silence of the library.)

And I see her.

Sitting across from me, on the other side of the reading table. A girl.

She's focused on the book in her hands, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders, obscuring most of her face. All I can see is a small portion of her cheek, the edge of her chin, and… glasses.

Thick, oversized glasses. (She must be severely nearsighted. Maybe she's like me—someone who spends too much time reading, observing, searching for hidden truths in the world, to the point of ruining her eyesight?)

...

I steal glances at her. (I know it's impolite. That I'm intruding on her space. But somehow, I can't suppress my curiosity. There's something about her… that draws me in.)

Something about her… feels familiar.

Not that I've met her before, but the feeling. A sense of connection, of kinship, even though we have never spoken a word, never known anything about each other.

(Could she be… a misfit like me? Someone who also finds solace, refuge, and escape in books and silence, rather than in noisy gatherings and complicated relationships?)

...

Silence envelops us both.

But it's not an empty, meaningless silence. It's a silence that holds.

It holds thoughts, emotions, and… an invisible connection that words cannot express.

I can hear the faint rustle of her turning pages. The soft scratch of a pencil against paper. (Does she also take notes while reading, just like me?) The steady, quiet rhythm of her breathing…

And for a brief moment, I feel as if we are sharing something. A secret. A world. A… moment.

...

I glance at the book she's reading. A thick volume with a simple green cover, adorned with elegant, flowing handwriting. I squint, trying to make out the title, but it's too small, and the distance between us is too great.

(Is it a romance novel? A detective story? A science book? Or… something about astronomy, about the stars, about the vast universe?)

(And why do I even care what she's reading? What does it have to do with me?)

...

And then, unexpectedly, she looks up.

(Perhaps she also sensed my gaze, just as I had sensed hers. Or maybe she simply wanted to adjust her sitting posture.)

For a fleeting moment, our eyes meet.

It's quick. Subtle. So brief that someone who doesn't pay attention to details as obsessively as I do would have missed it entirely.

But for me, that moment… was enough.

Enough to see that behind those thick lenses lies a pair of eyes unlike any other.

Large, round, shining—like two emeralds, glistening in a starry night sky.

Eyes that are deep. Eyes that speak. Eyes that hold stories.

...

Startled, I immediately look away, burying my face back into my insect book.

(Damn it, Suzuki Yuuto! Why do you always act so awkward in front of people—especially girls?)

My heart beats slightly faster. My lips press together. My fingers tremble, ever so slightly.

(Probably just surprise. Or low blood sugar. Nothing special. Nothing to dwell on.)

...

But as I sneak another glance at her, I realize—

In this vast library, among thousands of books—

There is one book I want to read more than any other.

And that book… is the girl sitting across from me.