CHAPTER 146: EVERY SECOND

The library greeted them like an old friend—familiar, still, and filled with a kind of silence that didn’t feel empty. Just calm.

Noel walked behind the front desk, flipping the switch that powered on the little desk fan. It gave a soft hum, circling warm air lazily as it turned.

He dropped his backpack beside the chair, rolled up his sleeves, and grabbed the small green rag folded neatly on the shelf.

"I’ll start with the shelves," he said.

His dad was already unlocking the catalog drawer. "Take your time. No rush today."

Noel nodded, already stepping into the first aisle.

The books stood like quiet companions, some leaning slightly, others pushed too far in.

The old floor groaned under his weight, the sound oddly alive, like the library itself was keeping him company.

He wiped the top of each shelf slowly, careful not to disturb the way the titles stood like soldiers in uniform.

Somewhere in the far corner, a child giggled—probably from the children’s section.

His dad greeted a familiar voice in soft tones. Life moved gently here.

After the third shelf, Noel paused and pulled out his phone.

Still no reply from Luca.

The screen glowed silently. Last online: 1 hour ago.

He tilted his head, lips twitching slightly—neither a smile nor a frown.

He locked the phone and slipped it into his back pocket.

"Lost something?" his dad called gently from the counter, his voice not teasing—just knowing.

Noel shrugged. "Just checking the time."

His dad smiled faintly without turning around.

Noel continued down the row, fingertips brushing the spine of a book titled Rain Will Come.

Something about the title echoed inside him, quiet and unresolved.

At the end of the aisle, he found a book on the wrong shelf. It wasn’t rare—visitors often left things behind or mixed up sections.

He glanced at the cover: a romance novel, a couple standing close under a streetlight, shadows falling over their faces.

He traced the edge of the cover for a beat too long, then slid it gently into its rightful place.

"People keep putting romance novels in the thriller section," Noel muttered under his breath as he straightened another misplaced book.

His dad, still seated behind the desk with his glasses low on his nose, chuckled softly. "Maybe they’re hoping for both. Love and danger."

Noel grinned faintly, brushing dust from the edge of the shelf. "Sounds exhausting."

"You’re too young to sound that tired of love," his dad teased, not looking up from the catalog.

Noel rolled his eyes playfully, but the corners of his mouth tugged into something softer.

He finished the aisle and made his way back to the desk.

The fan rotated toward him and cooled the sweat at his temple.

He reached for his phone again—just muscle memory now—but still, the screen lit up, and this time, there it was.

Luca

"Good morning... I think I overslept. I miss you already."

Noel didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the message for a second, his heartbeat doing that small, stupid flip it always did.

He typed:

"You’re lucky you’re cute. I almost filed a missing person report."

Almost instantly, the typing bubbles appeared.

Luca

"I’d love to see you do that. ’Hi, yes, my boyfriend went offline for 2 hours and I panicked.’

That’s love."

Noel bit his lower lip, stifling a laugh. Then another message popped in.

Luca

"Where are you now?"

Noel leaned against the edge of the front desk and snapped a quick photo—his feet near the dusty library floor, a book cart half-sorted behind him.

Noel

"The usual. Library duty."

A second later, a heart emoji floated in.

His dad looked over the edge of his glasses, catching the expression on his son’s face—one he hadn’t seen since Noel was little and watching cartoons.

"You’re glowing."

Noel groaned. "Dad—"

"I didn’t say anything," he said, hands raised in surrender.

Noel shook his head, hiding a grin as he tucked the phone back into his pocket.

He stayed leaning against the front desk for a moment longer, thumb brushing over the screen before he finally pocketed the phone.

Behind him, the soft rustle of pages and his dad’s occasional clearing of the throat were the only sounds filling the library.

But in Noel’s mind, it wasn’t so quiet.

It had only been a few days since they said goodbye at the station.

Since that wordless hug that held too much and still not enough.

And now, here he was—back in the rhythm of home, of early mornings and book carts—but with half his thoughts still orbiting someone miles away.

He wandered toward the back section, carrying a small stack of returns.

The morning sun had fully risen now, slanting through the high windows and warming the old wooden shelves.

A thin layer of dust sparkled in the air.

His phone buzzed again.

Luca

"Do you ever feel like the room’s full, but you’re the only one really there?"

Noel paused.

His fingers hovered over the spines of the books he hadn’t shelved yet, the leather edges brushing against his skin like anchors.

The quiet of the shop wrapped around him—dust, paper, the faint hum of the old ceiling fan.

His other hand slid slowly into his pocket, pulled out the phone. He read the message again. Once. Twice. Like the words might change if he stared hard enough.

Then he typed:

Noel

"Sometimes I look around and wonder how everyone else is breathing so easily. Like they didn’t just leave something behind."

He hit send before he could second-guess it. His heart thudded once, loud, against the cage of his ribs.

A beat passed.

Then:

Luca

"I didn’t leave you behind."

Noel closed his eyes for a second, his chest tightening—not painfully, just... quietly.

A familiar ache, the kind that pressed instead of pierced.

For a heartbeat, Noel thought he could almost hear Luca’s laugh then, low and unguarded, echoing somewhere in the quiet aisles.

His thumbs hesitated over the screen, then moved:

Noel

"I know. But I still miss you."

The typing bubbles appeared. Then vanished. Then came back again.

Noel’s stomach twisted with every flicker.

Finally:

Luca

"Same. Every second."

The words sat there, stark and heavy, glowing back at him. Noel didn’t reply right away.

He slid the last book into place, let his fingers rest there longer than necessary, pressed against the worn spine like it could ground him.

The window caught his eye. Sunlight spilled through the glass, warm and golden, but it only made the smudge on the corner shine brighter—a tiny imperfection.

He traced it absentmindedly with his gaze, wondering if Luca, wherever he was, stared at some other window with some other smudge.

A different glass.

A different kind of silence.

His dad’s voice broke the moment gently, like stepping into a dream without shattering it.

"Hey," he called from the doorway. "I’m going to grab us some tea. You want anything else?"

Noel shook his head, his voice quiet, steady only because it had practice. "Just the tea’s good."

His dad studied him for a moment longer than usual, then nodded. "Alright. Back in a bit." He paused, hand still on the doorframe. "You okay?"

Noel hesitated. His throat worked once before he pulled up a smile—small, not quite reaching his eyes. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

"You do that too much," his dad teased, soft enough that it didn’t sting, before he disappeared down the hall.

Silence folded over the room again, settling like dust.

Noel sank into it, his hand drifting back to the phone.

His thumb hovered over the call button—close enough that one twitch could bridge the distance.

But he didn’t press it.

Instead, he let the phone slip back against his chest, held it there for a second like it could carry warmth across miles.

His lips parted, the words slipping out in a whisper not meant for anyone but himself.

"Every second," he whispered again, softer—half prayer, half confession—into the silence that never answered back.

The silence after his whisper lingered, stretching until even the books seemed to listen.

Noel leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling.

The phone buzzed once in his hand—not Luca.

His heart sank anyway. He set it face down on the desk, but his gaze stayed fixed on it, waiting for something that didn’t come.

He stood and drifted to the window. The street outside was washed in gold light, empty except for a bicycle by the lamppost. Children’s laughter carried faintly from somewhere down the block.

Noel pressed his fingertips to the glass, tracing the smudge he’d seen earlier. For a moment, he imagined it was Luca’s touch, not his own. His chest tightened.

"Every second," he whispered again, softer, as though the room itself might finally whisper it back.

But the silence stayed.

And Noel stayed with it, forehead nearly to the glass, until his dad’s footsteps stirred in the hall.

A Quiet Ache