According to plan, Hanada and I were supposed to meet up just outside the school library at 4:30 pm today.

It's 4:45 pm.

So just where the hell is she?

I consider entering without her just when I hear the familiar clicking of a cane on a hard surface.

Speak of the devil and the devil will come. Rather, think of the devil and the devil will come.

Just as she turns the corner, she sees me. She takes a few more steps to stand across from me and catches her breath. "I'm. Sorry. I'm. Late. And. I. Kept. You. Waiting." She huffs each word with each pant. "It's just that-"

"It's fine." I cut her off. "I don't want to hear your excuses. You were 15 minutes late. What's the big deal? We agreed to work as professionals, but a little unprofessionalism can be forgiven, can't it?" My voice is bitter.

Her response is to straighten her posture and clutch her cane tightly. Coldly, she says, "It won't happen again. I assure you."

"Let's just go in."

Neither of us looks at each other as we enter the library. But the library is breathtaking. One wall is made entirely of glass windows and looks out at the forest. There's a glass door within the wall, which leads to a porch with tables and parasols. There are some students there with textbooks open and lattes in hand. The other walls house mahogany bookshelves. Interspersed between the bookshelves are study areas with large tables. The librarian desk is in the center, and the book drop box is by the entrance, from which Hanada and I came in.

Hanada leaves my side to the nonfiction section, presumably to find books on flowers. Meanwhile, I find us an empty table at the porch and arrange the graph paper and my art supplies. Sometime later, Hanada returns with arms full of books. I look at their titles as she sets them down. Some of them look like research books, others don't. The ones that don't have titles like An Ember in the Ashes, Heartless, The Red Scrolls of Magic, The Darkest Part of the Forest, The Iron Trial, and other similar names. I point at them. "Those don't look like books about flowers."

"They're not. I somehow found myself in the fantasy section and saw these. I couldn't resist," she admits sheepishly as she tucks the novels in her backpack.

"You somehow found yourself in a section that was on the opposite end of the nonfiction section?" I ask cynically.

"I swear I was in the nonfiction section. You can see just how many books I found on flower blossoms." She gestures at the pile of research books. "But while perusing, my feet just made their way to the other side, as though I was iron and the fantasy section was a magnet. I was pulled in by its force."

For a moment, I forget my hatred. I laugh. Her explanation, her analogy, and her expression of embarrassment are just so hilarious. I feel free. I can't remember the last time I laughed this freely. "Just say that you wanted to go to the fantasy section. You don't have to put it like that. Iron, magnets, force. You sound so funny, putting physics and fiction together."

She blushes, bringing back fond memories. "Okay. I just wanted to check out what the library had to offer in fantasy novels."

"And yet you brought back so many," I gasp between snickers.

The blush deepens. "So I did."

Hanada looks at the graph paper and sits down. "Should we start?"

I stop chortling instantly and sit down across from her. "Yeah. I know how some of these flower blossoms look like, but you need to tell me which one you want to use for which playground structure."

We spend the next two hours, alternating between working individually and together. I consult her when I've finished drawing one playground structure, and she consults me when she's found a species that matches one of our seven sub-themes. Neither of us tries to do anything that makes the other laugh or invokes memories. By the time the sun sets, I've finished half of the spring sub-theme, and Hanada's found five additional flowers.

She takes a picture of the graph paper and promises to work on the equations for the playground structures tonight.

We walk to the train station together.

We ride the evening train together.

We board the same compartment together.

We just don't sit next to each other.

As though we're the same poles of two magnets, repelling each other.