Tristan was always too busy to read.

That's how he had gotten into audiobooks in the first place. A cheap, electronic book that he can carry around on his phone and listen to hands free? It's like they were made for him.

But recently, there's something about the old, pre-loved books that he's been seeing a lot of that is calling him back to the real deal. He's not sure if it's the idea of something physical, that he can feel in his hands, or the old nostalgia of the covers, the pages, the rustling sound you get when you're so engrossed that you have to keep turning those pages.

Maybe it's all of it. But he misses it, he knows that much.

And he's not really all that busy anymore.

He doesn't have the space at home to start buying them, and to be honest, he's not sure how long this phase is going to last. But his local library is warm and well stocked and even has a cafe inside. He still has his library card, albeit the one that he got when he was in college, but he's sure it's still good.

The smell of books is faint and subtle as he walks in, but just what he was looking for and he knows immediately that he's made the right decision in coming.

It's a Friday evening, so it's pretty deserted, but there's very soft music playing over a speaker system that takes the edge off the otherwise jarring silence. He's not really sure what he's looking for, but that's the beauty in coming here. He'll let his fingers dance along the spines of all those books, thinking about all the worlds, characters and stories that he's touching and all those who have explored them before him, and maybe one will jump out at him.

He crosses the open space, slipping between two towering walls of books. It's cosy and welcoming and he smiles faintly as he begins perusing the selection.

God knows he's never been a romance person, but he's not in the mood for his usual sci-fi adventures or even the faddy 'how to change your life books' that he can never seem to just pass by. Instead he moves silently to the next row of books, glancing over the titles until he finds what he's looking for.

That girl in the cafe, the one with the hideous jumpers and big, round glasses, she always has classics stuffed in her bag. Tatty, worn around the edges and sometimes looking just inches from falling apart, she seems to love them all the same. It's almost endearing.

That's what he looks for now.

Tristan likes to think of himself as somewhat well-read. He's read Wilde's A Picture of Dorian Grey and Orwell's dystopian 1984, but it seems as though the world is a lot wider than that. He squints at the name Jane Austen, very familiar with her reputation.

He's never read anything that she's written, but that many people can't be wrong about her, surely? He sighs in reluctance, sliding out a somewhat weathered copy of Pride and Prejudice. If he's going to give Big Dog Jane a chance, he supposes he better go all in and see what everyone's raving about.

He flips it open, already half-heartedly smiling at the feel of the pages brushing against his fingertips. He scans the first page, and then the next and before he knows it he's marking the second chapter.

So maybe Big Dog Jane was on to something after all.

He slips his library card into the pages, marking his page as he forces himself out of the dim aisle. He could stay here reading all night, but he doesn't think the staff would appreciate it.

As he sidles towards the desk, he suddenly stops in his tracks.

Familiar, mousey brown hair falls limply across her cheeks as the gold rims of her round glasses flash in the overhead lighting, but what really seals the deal is her outfit. He'd recognise that ugly jumper anywhere.

It's his stranger, from the cafe, except he's not really sure if she classifies as that anymore. A stranger. He seems to know far more about her than most of the people in his life. Like how he knows that the coffee in her cup will smell like cinnamon, and how her clothes, while old-fashioned, seem to suit her down to the ground. If he's being really honest, her skirt today isn't even that vile. Once upon a time, it was probably a rather fetching pair of curtains.

He inhales a little sharply as she lifts her head, a smile gracing her face as she bids goodbye to someone.

She doesn't smile at the cafe. Not really. Neither does he.

But here, she does, and it's really something. People look different when they smile, and she looks...

She looks soft and safe and comforting, a warmth in her expression which makes you feel at ease. And there's an openness in her expression which makes him want to tell her anything. Everything.

Tristan grips the book in his hands sharply, not really sure how to feel about the sight. He knows her at the cafe, knows her intimately, but here she's different and all of a sudden this girl that he thought he knew has become a stranger again. She's become multi-faceted and shiny, different to the flat, subdued girl who shares his Saturday afternoons.

He glances at her again, seemingly so at home here surrounded by her books, and he likes the sight. He hadn't realised that he wanted more for her than those strange, silent Saturdays.

He's glad she has it, but it also makes him sad.

He's jealous.

Tristan hasn't felt three dimensional in a long time, let alone shiny. And that openness, her softness, that seems to draw him in like a sweet melody. It's dangerous. He moves to the other desk, manned by an older gent who looks like he'd rather be anywhere than here. This suits Tristan a little better.

The guy scans the book, and then his card, stamping an all but illegible date into the front of the book before sliding it across the desk.

"We're closing now." He says, staring at him with a thinly veiled expression of 'so get out'.

Tristan nods. They're the only words that have been spoken to him all day and he almost laughs.

"Thanks."