Hopefully
It was her fortress. The wall of books covered her notes, and if she bent low enough, her face would be hidden as well. Daphne lost count of how many books there were around her, but they all had the same general topic. She wanted to learn everything she could about the F.B.I.
Her notebook was filled with cramped writing that translated into notes on whatever she could find. The book in front of her claimed to reveal the secrets of the F.B.I., but she took each word carefully. As much as she would love to know, she doubted the secrets were all laid out for her. Still, she wrote her notes.
It was her favorite part of writing a book. The research, the questions. Finding out things that you wouldn't typically come across in day to day life. She prided herself in knowing more about Ancient Greece, motorcycles, and the history of currency than most people. Even when she wasn't writing she found herself researching and learning everything she could about whatever she could get her hands on. When she was in high school and realized her love of research could mix with her creative mind, well it just all fell into place after that.
Daphne finished the last sentence of her idea and she dropped the pen. Her eyes were blurring, and her hand was killing her. She shook her hand trying to stretch the sore muscles. She leaned back in her chair, her fingers rubbing her eyes and a yawn slipping out. The face of her watch told her she had been there for almost three hours. A grin came to her face. She felt satisfaction in her hard work. She was another step closer to finishing her story.
She closed the book in front of her and started organizing the books into piles. Ones to check out today, ones she had finished, and ones that she needed to come back for. When it came to her writing, she was crazy specific. Her notes were in a certain order and everything had its place. The rest of her life was a different story.
After jotting down the titles of the books she wanted to return for, she piled all the books in her arms. She had to move carefully, worried that they would fall to the ground if she moved her fingers in the wrong way.
Slowly, she moved to the section she retrieved them from. She stopped in front of the bookshelf and stared at the books. Her mind forgot her original task and started memorizing books she didn't notice before. Forgetting that she was holding something, she reached forward for a new book and dropped everything.
She froze, her eyes shut tightly. "Damn." Her voice was quiet. Daphne bent down picking up the books and putting them into their piles again.
A thin hand reached forward and placed a book from behind her on top of the second pile. Daphne read the title and shook her head. She moved it to the first pile.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't realize you had a system." Daphne smiled at the stranger. He handed her two more books, and she thanked him and put them in their piles.
"No worries. I'm a little, uh, organized." Daphne picked up the third pile and stood.
"Do you need help?" The man picked up another pile of her books. Daphne fully turned to him, a shy smile on her face.
"Just the cleaning up stages is all. That pile you have just needs to be put back. But I can do it."
Daphne turned her attention to the books in her arms. She placed some of them back, while she put others back on the ground to take with her.
The man seemed to ignore what she said and started helping her put everything back. He looked down at the titles, raising an eyebrow as he did so. "Killers of the Flower Moon, A Higher Loyalty, The Secrets of the F.B.I.…"
"Yeah, um, I'm writing a book about the F.B.I. Well, it's not about the F.B.I. exactly, it's fictional, and the main character falls into the F.B.I. world, and she doesn't know what's going on so I'm trying to learn as much as I can. I know it seems weird that they are all about the F.B.I. and that it might seem like -" She laughed nervously and shook her head. "Sorry, rambling. Yeah, book." The man gave her a small laugh.
"Which department are you looking at?" He kept his eyes on the books, carefully putting them onto their correct spot on the shelves. He did so very slowly and carefully, almost as though he didn't want to harm the books. Daphne blinked and turned away, hoping he didn't realize she was staring.
"Well, all of them. I'm not sure where things are going in the book yet, so I am just learning as much as I can until the book tells me where I am going. Oh, that sounds crazy. I'm not crazy. The books don't talk to me or anything."
"You're not crazy." He wasn't laughing at her. For once, someone wasn't laughing at her. She suddenly felt the urge to hug him. "You're a writer," he continued, "and a passionate one it seems."
"I get to do what I love. It's hard to not show excitement for it." Daphne bent down to pick up the last pile of books, and she smiled at the man. "Thanks for helping me. Hopefully, I'll see you around."
"Yeah, hopefully."
It wasn't until Daphne got into her car that she realized that she never got his name.
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