All characters are over the age of 18. The characters and events present are created from my own overactive imagination and any resemblance to anyone is accidental. This story was created as a submission for the VALENTINES DAY 2021 competition. It has romantic love and is also my love letter to romantic and erotic literature. I look forward to seeing your responses in the comments. I hope you rate it highly and favourite it. I may write a sequel if there is interest.
23/02/21 Edit -- I have added in the name of the narrator for each section, whenever it changes. For first time readers the dual perspective has been causing confusion and I don't believe it is too disruptive to add the name (although the POV switches occur often during the ending). Thank you for reading and I hope this addition makes reading this story a smoother experience!
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Ellie
It was a modern library I sat inside, sheltering from the darkness and the cold. The university had spent an extortionate amount building a new library that was ready to use as I was entering my first year. I had mixed feelings about it. On the one hand it was a beautiful and elegant modern building. Glass and panelling all the way up its exterior, multiple floors, walkways inside that circled around an open area, and more books than you could ever read.
Still, I had previously visited the old library a few times for the books that hadn't been transferred over and each time I went I felt a little melancholy that it was being replaced and made irrelevant. The old library was a big ancient brick building with tight twisting passages and books haphazardly shelved. Little cosy nooks and crannies that you felt rewarded for finding. It had a lot of character. A place like that seemed like it would suit me. What's more, there was a cute tabby cat that often lounged on the wall outside and was very willing to be petted when I walked past. He liked belly rubs and tickles behind the ears, in case you needed to know.
I could not imagine my feline friend acting that comfortable on the concrete outside the new library. Undoubtedly, both he and I had yet to find a place we could truly relax when it came to this modern library. Perhaps that was why I was struggling to work?
I banged my forehead on the hard table. Aiming to dramatically lay my head on it like a scene from a movie, I had succeeded only in making a loud "thud" noise and likely denting my forehead.
My little piece of performance was only for myself. No one was around to witness it. I had thought that acting out my frustration physically would help. It appeared it wouldn't be that easy.
The world looked odd from my horizontal viewpoint. I could see my laptop through the strands of hair that fell over my face but my gaze rapidly grew unfocused and I found myself staring out towards the bookshelves. They were blurry and difficult to see from this unusual angle. Suddenly feeling embarrassed by my public melodrama I quickly straightened myself up, smoothed out my jumper and skirt and brushed my hair back into place behind my ears. Returning my gaze to my laptop, the intimidatingly dense paragraphs of scruffy and uninteresting writing that greeted me almost encouraged me to return to sulking once more.
I really was struggling to make headway. Why was it taking so long to write a scene? I had done many one-shot scenes and short stories before, had I wrestled with those the same way? Romance novels were a new genre for me true enough, and I lacked useable experience, but as a first year we we're expected to go attempt multiple genres instead of going deep into any single topic like we would in later years when creating a manuscript. I suppose the university wanted all English Literature and Creative Writing students to experiment before settling into any particular genre. Experience is key after all.
I suppose my lack of experience really hurt me when it came to writing romance.
I was definitely someone who fitted into the typical "shy bookish" character. It was how I had grown up. Books and indoor activities were encouraged and I never really desired engaging in team sports.
Most of my life had centred around keeping quiet during class and doing the work, socialising with a few close friends I felt safe with, a quick burst of energy and freedom at badminton club before returning home to whatever quiet and introverted hobby was the focus at the time. That hobby was often, although not always, reading.
I think my family believed that I would change when I arrived at university. My mum definitely hoped I would gain some maturity, as she thought I was holding myself back from entering the "adult world", but so far their prayers had been unanswered. I was a bookish introvert and that was fine. Why leave what you knew?
I hadn't joined any societies and pushed myself out of my comfort zone and I certainly wasn't one to start a relationship. I had partied and clubbed a bit but soon found it not entirely to my liking, at least staying out all night and getting horrible drunk. Dancing and partying wasn't the worst thing in the world though. At least I could have fun without struggling to make my way through a conversation.
I suppose it is ironic, my inability to speak, given my name.
Oh yes, I'm sure Ellie doesn't sound like it has any ironic connotations. What does the shortened version of the name Eleanor have to do with speaking? Nothing. But my name isn't short for Eleanor, my parents aren't that normal. No, I am named Eloquence...yep. Ellie short for Eloquence. How pretentious does that make me sound?
Thinking about having to introduce myself to people that way made me cringe in my seat. As I did I realised I had daydreamed about the reasons I wasn't writing for far too long. That was how I was. I really did like to go on tangents. I guess that was just something I had always-
"Ahem."
I was about to let my thoughts stray onto another tangent, as usual. It likely would have lasted a long time, and led onto another. After hours of introspection mixed with brief periods of staring at a screen I would have left the library, frustrated with my lack of progress. In the darkness I would have trudged back home to my student accommodation, deciding to give it a rest for today. Progress on my short romance scene would have halted, for now and who knows when it would have picked up again.
As it happened, I was not destined to do any more creative writing that day regardless, but because of a very different distraction.
Standing over me, politely clearing her throat, was a tall, dark haired girl. Should I say woman? Well, she didn't seem older than me by much, so I was hesitant to add her to such a category. Actually, as a university first year, could I not be classified as a woman myself? Still she did seem far more mature.
Cool office attire clad her obviously curvaceous figure. Heels, tights, black pencil skirt, and a beautifully fitting white blouse. It may have been predictable, maybe even cliché, female office attire but on her attractive form and compared to the frumpy and comfy look of the older librarians, she stood out.
I could tell she was a librarian from the stack of books she carried both in her arms and on a metal trolly. A lanyard and nametag hung from her neck and identified her as Aristeia. A beautiful name for a stunningly attractive and mature looking librarian. A librarian, no woman -- she deserved that title with respect -- who was currently clearing her throat to gain my attention.
I pulled out my earbuds to make it clear I was listening but they had not been playing music for some time.
