Do you ever feel like the world is conspiring against you?

that everything in your life that could go wrong is going wrong, and it all gets worse every single time you make a slip.

So much so that managing not to trip over your own two feet two feet while walking would be considered a triumph for someone like you?

But then again, when do things ever go well?

It is in these situations that most of the time people simply turn around, flee, and forget about the unfortunate occurrence entirely. Or worse yet, pretend that everything is normal; that nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened; that they are still in control of the situation, which they certainly don't feel like they are. And yet the world seems resolved not to let them get away with it.

I shove my hands deeper into my coat pockets as I ducks under an alleyway sign, and keep walking, eyes trained on my objective – or, rather, the street where it would have been, if I had taken a more direct route.

The air is brisk, but not freezing cold, and it feels good as it brushes through my hair, chilling me from head to toe.

My mind is racing, and my steps quicken.

I can feel their eyes on me. I know it.

They want to laugh. It's just paranoia. I know that, but I can't help but feel slightly disturbed by their stares.

A little part of me hopes that the stroll will make my worry fade into oblivion; but another part of me knows that it's not going to happen, and so I just keep on trudging onwards.

Towards my destination, my destination being a library, one situated on the other side of the town.

This town where I grew up, this town I used to cherish with my boyish heart, this town that taught me that even children could be cruel, this town that filled my now adolescent heart, with nothing but spite and hatred. This town where the only hope that remained for me was leaving this godforsaken place.

It takes less than ten minutes before I arrive at the library.

The door is unlocked, thankfully. I push it open, making sure to lock it behind me. I hurried up the stairs towards a particular bookshelf, my footsteps echoing about the wooden floor, the sound loud enough for someone to notice my attendance, but not enough to bother them.

But the library was void, save for the clerk who happens to be a lady in her fortys, some wrinkles on her face, strangely enough seem to add some charm her visage, one that told the story of a person who lived a lengthy life full of misery, but resolved against giving onto resentment and cursing each and every day she was still alive, she would instead just smile, smile and take joy in the little things of life.

I hope to be like that when I'm older.

I digress, the point was, she was kind enough not to force me to partake in small talk. I dreaded small talk if there was anything that caused me more existential dread than eldritch horror. It would be small talk, why people subjugate themselves to such a tortuous and superficial exchange is beyond me.

Anyway, you might wonder why this haven for intellectuals is barren? , The reason is actually simple. It was four in the morning.

Yes, I hachiman hikigaya went to the library at four AM to avoid any unfavourable amount of human interactions and by an unfavourable amount, I mean greater than zero.

Go on laugh at my social anxiety all you want, while I read lovecraftian horror and agonise over my misery ridden life.

And I was in fact doing just that, until I saw a silhouette in the corner of my eye reaching for a book at the very top of one of the shelves, standing on her tippy toes was what I judged to be a girl, but I wasn't certain, for the morning light has yet grace us with its luminance.

And somehow, with my remarkable intellect, I judged that aiding this damsel in distress in her hardship, was in fact a great idea, brilliant even.

As my brain function was impaired by a cloud of folly looming over me. I reached up and grabbed a book, I eyed the cover carefully. ' Anna Karenina' it read.

"good taste" I muttered under my breath, I heard a small gasp. Being somewhat surprised and regaining sufficient brain power to recall what I was doing in the first place, I turned around and my eyes were locked with another.

A brunette with pale skin, long black hair that spills past her shoulders and down to her waist, as well as an ahoge that lays flat atop her head. Adorning her raven locks are a pair of red ribbons just above each shoulder. a pair of large.

And her eyes, oh her eyes, a piercing blue together with a hue of grey, a bloom one could never get tired of seeing, a spark of intelligence that can be seen a mile away, an aura of refinement that makes one surrender his soul to, how could one not want to drown in those eyes.

And all I could think of was' well, shit. I didn't think this through. '