Harley Dalton

The library was almost empty. Her uncle's class had ended a few minutes ago, and before heading back to the dorm, she decided to look for some of the books he had recommended. She ran her fingers along the spines, deep in thought, reading the titles aloud. Then she heard him. "What a coincidence to find you here. " She didn't turn around immediately; she didn't need to. She recognized that voice. That slightly mocking, confident tone, as if each word were spoken with an unashamed smile. Charlie Dalton. From the day she had left the small study to deliver a book to her uncle, that boy seemed to have decided that his existence would revolve around running into her. In the hallways. In the dining hall. After class. Always with some unnecessary comment, some lingering stare, some clumsy but audacious excuse to talk to her. He wasn't rude. He wasn't pushy. But he was persistent. And aware of it. "If this is another coincidence ," he continued from behind her, " I'm starting to think fate has too much free time."