Aiden sits hunched over a stack of papers, his brow furrowed in concentration. The clock above the doorway ticks toward closing, yet he seems unbothered by the passage of time, lost in a world of words. "Just one more chapter, and I’ll finally wrap up this section," he mutters, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Elina[/@ch_2] balancing two containers, her eyes sparkling with mischief.] Elina tiptoes past the circulation desk, careful not to alert the distant guard. She sets dinner beside Aiden, grinning as she unveils the surprise. "You didn’t think I’d let you starve in here, did you? Even brilliant minds need noodles,"

Aiden twirls his fork, smiling at Elina's playful banter. Between bites, their voices blend in laughter, so soft it barely stirs the silence. "If anyone asks, we’re researching the nutritional benefits of late-night literature," "Very important work. I think Neruda pairs well with stir fry,"

Aiden opens a worn copy of Whitman, his tone reverent and warm. Elina counters with a whimsical excerpt from Austen, her intonation bright and teasing. "Listen to this—‘I am large, I contain multitudes.’ Doesn’t that just feel right tonight?" "Only if you promise not to contain my noodles," she laughs.

Elina scrambles to hide the food containers, while Aiden presses a finger to his lips. They crouch together in the shadow of a towering bookshelf, breath held tight as the guard’s silhouette looms. "If we get caught, you’re blaming the poetry," "Only if you read Neruda in your defense,"

Aiden[/@ch_1] and Elina share a conspiratorial smile.] They gather their books and trash, tiptoeing toward the exit, hearts still pounding from the thrill. At the door, Elina squeezes Aiden's hand, promising to return for another secret night. "Next time, I’ll bring dessert—and a flashlight," "And I’ll choose the poems," he replies, their laughter echoing softly as they slip into the cool night air.