The town library was always a quiet place, even on the busiest days. Eleanor never scolded the patrons; as soon as they stepped into the lofty hall where towering shelves loomed, they paused, glanced around, and then drifted politely toward her desk.
Good morning, they would say, ever so courteous, before asking for a book.
Good morning, Eleanor replied with a smile, listening attentively to each request.
She was naturally pleasant and wellmannered, and the library felt like a perfect fit. Sometimes she thought to herself:
Its brilliant that fate led me down this lane. I cant imagine another job that lets me work so calmly and with such enthusiasm. Its a joy when work feels like play, and most of the visitors are equally courteous.
Of course, there were moments when a hurried reader barged in, demanding a title and tapping an impatient foot while Eleanor fetched the volume, filled out a borrowing card, and kept her composure without a hint of irritation.
Eleanor had loved reading since she was a child, so choosing this career never required a second thoughtbooks were her element. She navigated the stacks with confidence, wellread and endlessly curious.
While her friends chased dates, juggled jobs, moved houses, argued and made up, and raised children, Eleanor simply went about her days, steady and unhurried.
She spoke with a soft, calm voice, habitually straightening her glasses when something was amiss, her grey eyes warm, her light hair always tied in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, dressed in tidy, sensible attire.
At twentyseven, just two days after her birthday, a handsome young man with spectacles entered the library. He caught her eye, and she thought:
Pleasant fellow, probably about thirty.
She realized she hadnt really paid much attention to the men who drifted through the stacks before, and now, for some reason, this one stood out.
Good afternoon, the newcomer greeted quietly and politely.
Good afternoon, Eleanor answered in kind.
Im looking for a book, he said after a brief pause, as if recalling the authors name, then added confidently, I hope you have it, adjusting his glasses as he glanced at the impressive rows of shelves.
Itll just be a moment, Eleanor replied, its on the top shelf, but Ill fetch it for you. She slipped behind the stacks while he surveyed the reading room.
His name was Simon, a shy engineer working in an architectural firm, constantly thumbing through old blueprints and drafting new ones. When Eleanor returned with the volume, Simon flashed a warm smile.
She settled at the desk to fill out the borrowing card, noting his nameSimon. He signed, then lingered uncertainly with the book in hand.
Thank you, he managed, remembering to be polite.
Youre welcome, she replied.
Something odd happened in that quiet hall; they stared at each other in silence, each unable to move. Time seemed to stretch, though neither could tell how long. Eventually, Eleanor broke the quiet.
Simon, do you need anything else?
Um no actually, he stammered, then gathered his courage. You know my name, but could you tell me yours?
Eleanor, she said modestly.
Eleanor a lovely name, very English. I thought so the moment I saw you, he murmured, pausing as he sensed his own shyness, which she recognized in herself.
Thank you, he said again, Ill take good care of the book. Goodbye.
Goodbye, she replied, confident he would return it, for his neat attirea pressed pair of trousers, crisp shirt, tie, and polished shoesspoke of a careful nature.
Simon left, and Eleanor found herself musing for a while.
Its as if were kindred spirits, she thought, feeling an odd connection, then chuckled at herself. Whats wrong with me? I never stare like that at patrons.
Simon, walking out, felt a bit dazed himself.
What a charming Eleanorshe belongs in a library, thats her place. I couldnt even muster a proper compliment why am I so shy? My modesty is only getting in the way. I doubt Ill ever work calmly again; I cant get her out of my head
Back at his office, Simon tried to focus on his drawings, but Eleanors face kept appearing in his mind.
What on earth is this daydream? he wondered, glancing at the blueprints, but the thoughts persisted.
The next day, during his lunch break, he slipped back into the library under the pretense of borrowing another book.
Good afternoon, Eleanor, she said, eyes lifting to meet his, surprised by how much her gaze seemed to say.
Good afternoon, she smiled, as if greeting an old friend. Looking for another volume?
Simon, cheeks flushed, finally blurted out, I came here to ask you something I like you a great deal please forgive my forwardness.
Eleanors eyes brightened, her cheeks gaining a rosy hue.
No need to apologise. I liked you yesterday too, to be honestI barely slept that night.
He grinned, Me neither. I havent closed my eyes properly since.
An awkward pause followed. Eleanor waited for him to say more, but he seemed at a loss, then gathered himself.
Eleanor, may I walk you home after work?
Sure, she answered shyly, with a faint smile.
From that day onward, their meetings turned into leisurely walks through the park, where Simon animatedly described his architectural projects, and Eleanor chatted about the novels shed devoured. He never balked at her analogy that books, like people, each have a soul.
Autumn arrived, and the couple spent countless evenings sharing tea in Eleanors cosy kitchen, often sitting in companionable silence.
Im dreaming of Venice, Eleanor confessed one night, recounting the many travelogues shed read. Simon imagined them gliding together in a gondola along a narrow canal, surrounded by water.
One Saturday, Simon arrived at her doorstep with a bouquet of red roses.
This is for you, Ellie. Lets get marriedthe plans been in my head for ages. Will you? he asked, halflaughing.
I will, she replied, bright and unpretentious.
They held a modest weddingnothing extravagant, just a calm ceremony befitting two people who never rushed. Their life unfolded at an easy pace, and they were content, though after many years together they never managed to have children.
Instead, they adopted a sleek black cat from the local shelter, named Mog, bought a cottage with a garden, and settled into a rhythm of work, evenings on the porch with books, and soft purrs from Mog. Simon built birdhouses, Eleanor knitted socks, and tended to flowerbeds. Neighbours would whisper that their life was uneventful, the same day over and over, yet they never felt bored.
Every morning Simon brewed coffee in an old kettle, pouring it into polished mugs, while Eleanor scattered crumbs for the sparrows outside the window. Summer meant long days in the garden; winter, a crackling fireplace in the cottage. Words were often unnecessaryunderstanding came without them.
Years passed, and they grew old together, still living in their cottage near the woods, listening to birdsong, hunting mushrooms in the glade, and enjoying the quiet. The neighbours respected their steady, peaceful way of life.
One afternoon Simon returned from the shop with a fine bottle of wine and some fruitsomething they rarely bought. He wiped two glasses with the kitchen towel he always used after washing the dishes, set them on the table, and poured.
Raising her glass, Eleanor smiled, To us?
No, Simon said, pulling two airline tickets from his pocket, to Venice.
Eleanor froze. They had talked about that city their whole lives, always postponing because of work, the cottage, or Mogs health.
Were old, she began.
Not oldsenior, Simon corrected, and thats exactly why were going.
They boarded a plane and, as if teenagers again, laughed while gliding beneath Venices arches in a gondola. She wore a straw hat; he carried a camera, snapping pictures of the canals. One evening, as the sun sank into the lagoon, he turned to her.
Im so happy, Ellie. I love you more than words can say.
And I thank the day you proposed, she replied, I knew it would be hard, but you made my dream come true. I need nothing more than us together.
They chuckled, their hearts light, because that was exactly what theyd always wanted. And so they lived on, slowly, lovingly, and without hurry.
