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A silent attraction - a short story
<p><strong>A Silent Attraction</strong></p><p><br></p><p>In the small university library where time seemed to slow between the tall shelves of ancient texts, Mary worked quietly at the circulation desk. She had been there for three years, and in that time had memorized the faces of almost every regular visitor.</p><p><br></p><p>There was one face, however, that made her pulse quicken. Elijah, a literature professor with kind eyes who visited every Wednesday afternoon precisely at 2:15. He would browse the poetry section, sometimes checking out a volume, sometimes just reading in the corner chair beneath the arched window.</p><p><br></p><p>They rarely spoke beyond whispered pleasantries—a murmured "thank you" from him, a soft "enjoy your book" from her. Yet in those brief moments, something electric seemed to pass between them.</p><p><br></p><p>One Wednesday, he left behind a small notebook. Mary found it after closing, its pages filled with fragments of original poetry. Without meaning to, she read a few lines that made her cheeks flush: "The librarian with autumn in her eyes, keeper of words we're both too shy to say."</p><p><br></p><p>The following Wednesday, when she returned the notebook, their fingers brushed. Neither spoke of the poems, but something had shifted. As rain began to fall outside the tall library windows, they smiled at each other—a new language forming between them, written not in words but in the eloquent silence they shared.</p>
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