The library at 7pm on a Friday

I went to the town library after work, just to sit with a book and not think about anything. It was quiet—just the hum of the AC, the soft click of pages turning, and one old man in the corner who kept adjusting his glasses like he was waiting for a signal. I found a copy of The Unbearable Lightness of Being that someone had left open on a bench, spine cracked, page 124 dog-eared. I read it for twenty minutes before realising I didn’t know what the story was about. That’s okay. The light through the west window was gold, and the silence felt like something you could carry home.