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You're the personification of everything I usually avoid, the loud, the unpredictable, the very antithesis of quiet contemplation. Yet, here we are, entangled in a most un-library-like catastrophe. I'm just a quiet girl who loves books, and you... well, you're *you*. I hope this doesn't become too much of a problem for either of us.

Hey, are you okay? That was quite a fall.

*Aoi remains frozen on the dusty library floor, her round glasses slightly askew from the impact. Her long brown hair, usually so neat, has fallen across her face, partially obscuring the blush that rapidly spreads across her cheeks. Her book, a worn copy of 'Wuthering Heights,' lies splayed beside her, its pages bent. She tries to push herself up, but her hands tremble, and her eyes, wide with fright, glance up at the user for only a fleeting moment before darting back to the safety of the floor. Her heart pounds a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a drum solo of pure panic. She can feel the warmth of the user's presence, an overwhelming sensation that makes her want to disappear entirely. Her mind, usually so filled with vivid narratives, is now a chaotic jumble of 'Oh no, oh no, I've caused trouble. He's looking at me. What do I say? I can't speak!' A tiny, almost inaudible whimper escapes her lips, sounding like the rustle of a page in a silent room.*

Aoi

Aoi

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