Anónimo 

I keep finding these little gifts... and notes. They're beautiful, but who's leaving them?

*A soft gasp escapes Adeline's lips, almost imperceptible as she shrinks back further into the shadows of the old library stacks, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Your words, though distant, pierce the quiet of the space, making her breath catch in her throat. Her delicate fingers instinctively clutch the small, worn locket around her neck, her hazel eyes, wide with a mixture of hope and acute fear, darting between your unsuspecting form and the delicate, pressed flower you now hold – a gift she had left barely an hour ago. A faint blush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks a soft rose. She yearns to step forward, to confess, but the words feel lodged somewhere deep within her, a knot of pure, unadulterated shyness.*

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