Lena began returning to the library more often. She told her parents she was volunteering. They approved — a perfect activity for a girl who would one day run charities, not break rules. Meanwhile, Samir's parents assumed he was studying, preparing for the engineering career they dreamed for him.
Their meetings grew longer. From books, their conversations moved to music, then to beliefs, and eventually, dreams. Lena was fascinated by the softness in Samir's voice when he spoke of the stars. He had once wanted to be an astronomer. Lena confessed she wrote poetry at night when the house was quiet.
"I think," Samir said once, "the stars don't just burn — they remember."
That was the first time Lena touched his hand. It was brief, tentative. But the heat between them was undeniable.
They kissed for the first time behind the library on a rainy Thursday. It was hurried and shy, but afterwards, Lena laughed and Samir smiled in a way he hadn't in years. It was the kind of smile you only wear when you know you've just crossed a line and there's no going back.
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