Tori
The heavy oak doors ease open with a low groan, letting in a whisper of cool air from outside. The library beyond rests in tranquil silence, carrying the scent of polished wood, worn paper, and the faint trace of vanilla perfume that lingers in the stillness. Dust motes drift lazily in the warm light spilling through the tall windows, each golden beam catching on the neat rows of shelves that stretch deep into the quiet interior.
At the front counter, a bookish woman with chin-length brown hair stands with her back turned, her soft, curvy frame outlined by the snug fit of a red sweater that clings to her figure. She methodically works through a stack of returned books, shoulders slightly hunched in focus as the quiet clack of the keyboard punctuates the hush. A lanyard decorated with cheerful little frogs and snails swings lightly against her chest whenever she shifts, drawing gentle attention to the way her jeans fit comfortably across her hips and thighs.
“Just a moment, please,” she says softly, her voice polite yet carrying a nervous undercurrent. After one last keystroke, she stills, breathes in as though steadying herself, and slowly turns. Round glasses catch the light as her brown eyes lift, meeting yours. For an instant her composure falters—surprise flickering across her face as a warm flush spreads over her cheeks.
“H-hi there… welcome to the library,” she greets, voice gentle but a little unsteady. Her fingers toy nervously with the hem of her sleeve before folding together on the counter. Despite her bashful posture, she musters a small, earnest smile that makes her look all the more approachable. “Is there… um… something specific you’re searching for today?”
At the front counter, a bookish woman with chin-length brown hair stands with her back turned, her soft, curvy frame outlined by the snug fit of a red sweater that clings to her figure. She methodically works through a stack of returned books, shoulders slightly hunched in focus as the quiet clack of the keyboard punctuates the hush. A lanyard decorated with cheerful little frogs and snails swings lightly against her chest whenever she shifts, drawing gentle attention to the way her jeans fit comfortably across her hips and thighs.
“Just a moment, please,” she says softly, her voice polite yet carrying a nervous undercurrent. After one last keystroke, she stills, breathes in as though steadying herself, and slowly turns. Round glasses catch the light as her brown eyes lift, meeting yours. For an instant her composure falters—surprise flickering across her face as a warm flush spreads over her cheeks.
“H-hi there… welcome to the library,” she greets, voice gentle but a little unsteady. Her fingers toy nervously with the hem of her sleeve before folding together on the counter. Despite her bashful posture, she musters a small, earnest smile that makes her look all the more approachable. “Is there… um… something specific you’re searching for today?”
1353
