A Pale Bookmark

The morning classes passed quickly. During that time, Karen had sent a simple message:

Let’s meet outside the library at lunch break.

As soon as class was dismissed, Marcel left in a hurry. Normally, he arrived a few minutes early and took his time leaving. But today, he had shown up late. He managed to take the nearest available seat next to the entrance without interrupting the lecture. Now, he was the first one out the door.

This caught Rita’s attention. She was used to sitting next to him and sharing a bit of mundane talk before and after class. She looked towards the entrance, wondering if something had happened.

Marcel made his way to the library. It was an old building that had clearly tried to adapt to modern times: automatic doors activated by student IDs, sleek reception desks that didn’t match the original design, and oddly industrialized signs distributed across vintage walls.

It was awkward. As if the building itself didn’t know what it wanted to be anymore.

“Yo, Mars!” called out Karen as soon as she spotted him at the library entrance. Her tone had shifted into a natural, bro-like attitude. It was a stark contrast to the elegant, almost ladylike persona she had shown earlier around Lisa.

“Hi, Karen. Is one of the other players meeting us here too?”

“Well, not exactly. We’re going to Sara,” she said, pausing briefly to choose her next words. “Follow me.”

Karen scanned her ID and entered the library. Marcel followed close behind.

“So,” Marcel said softly, “anything I should know about Sara?”

“She’s probably the most experienced player on our team. Rumors say she’s been playing since the day she learnt to walk,” Karen said with a teasing grin, knowing it was an exaggeration. “She’s one of the very few... Actually, the only one still with us who trained with a professional club in the past.”

“Oh. Sounds like a key piece for the team. She’s here right now?”

“Yup. She pretty much lives here.”

Marcel didn’t say anything, but this wasn’t where he had imagined meeting a nearly professional football player. Not a field or a gym, but a library.

In a way, it was refreshing to have his expectations turned on their head.

Karen stopped walking as they reached the far end of the Solaris library. It was a rustic, almost forgotten corner of the old building that seemed to be clinging stubbornly to its original nature.

The illumination was dim. Not dark, but dull. Almost grey. For Marcel, it was as if the air was getting heavier with every step.

“We’re almost there. Let’s see if she receives us,” whispered Karen, with a subtle hint of mischief in her voice that seemed to bring color to the ambience.

“Wait, what? She doesn’t know we’re coming?” Marcel whispered back, unable to hide his surprise.

“Nope. She turns her phone off all day. It’s impossible to reach her… unless you know exactly where to find her.” Karen smiled with confidence. “Follow my lead, Mars. Don’t do anything I don’t do. Got it?”

Marcel frowned in confusion. It sounded as if they were walking into a minefield. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Karen was already moving again, heading toward the last row of tall shelves standing perpendicular to the main path. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it and hurried to catch up.

They rounded the final corner, and there she was.

The silhouette of a silent girl sitting at a dark old table, reading from a large book, with a neat stack of similar tomes beside her. She wore large headphones and thick reading glasses, her focus unshakable.

Sara was tall, strikingly tall, and lean, with dark skin and straight copper hair tied into a high ponytail that dropped down to the nape of her neck. Unlike Mari, most of her hair was pulled back, except for a few loose strands, long enough to reach her lips, but not quite long enough to tie.

Karen reached the table, pulled out one of the many chairs tucked beneath it, and sat down without a word. Sara’s eyes looked up for a fraction of a second, just enough to register who it was, before returning to her book as if nothing had happened.

Marcel hesitated. He looked at Karen, unsure of what to do. She gave the table a gentle pat, signaling him to sit. Still no words.

He pulled out the chair beside her and took a seat across from Sara. He looked around again, still not fully grasping the situation. Karen gave him a small hand gesture.

Wait, be patient.

Then, she folded her arms and rested her head on them like this was all part of a familiar ritual.

It looked like it might take a while.

Marcel took the moment to observe the area around the girl in front of him. Her table was covered in worn books about law, jurisprudence, civil code theory, and other related subjects.

A variety of impressions stirred in his mind: Dedication. Coldness. Emptiness. A strange feeling that she was human, yet missing something fundamental to being human.

It was uncomfortable. And fascinating.

As she reached the end of a chapter, she slowly picked up a pale bookmark, placed it neatly on the page, and closed the book with precision.

Without urgency, Sara took off her headphones, shifting her glasses slightly in the process. She paused to adjust them, then lifted her head toward Karen, as if she hadn’t even noticed the stranger sitting across from her.

“Hello, Karen,” she said in a breezy tone. Her voice was soft and relaxed, distinct enough to carry a colorful personality, yet it conveyed not a single trace of emotion.

“Hey, Sara. New semester, same spot, I see,” Karen replied with a subtly playful voice, as if trying to thaw her icy exterior.

Sara looked down at her closed textbook and took a moment to think.

“Is it weird?” she asked.

“For you? Not at all,” said Karen, getting comfortable.

“Oh. That’s alright then,” replied Sara, still resting her eyes on the cover.

She then lifted her gaze to Marcel. Her eyes, distorted behind thick lenses, glanced at him for a moment, as if her gaze had silently asked a question. Karen responded.

“He’s the new coach,” Karen said, soft but clear. “We thought you should meet him before we start practices.”

Sara adjusted her glasses again, no longer glancing, now observing.

“That’s good. Took us long enough to find a replacement,” she said.

“Marcel, this is Sara, our team’s goalkeeper,” said Karen to Marcel. “She’s our age, but you probably won’t find her in class, or anywhere outside the field and this exact study corner.”

Marcel looked at Sara seriously and gave a soft bow.

“Nice to meet you, Sara. I heard you’re quite a good player,” he greeted.

Sara looked down at her book again, thinking.

“I guess I am. For a university team.”

There was a moment of silence neither Sara nor Marcel felt the need to fill. Karen just observed. She would usually fill the silence with anyone else, but it felt like this was their way of getting comfortable.

“You don’t look like a coach,” Sara said, breaking the ice with cold wind. “You also don’t seem like you play football.”

Marcel felt intimidated. He could tell she was merely observing and stating facts, but it still felt like judgment.

“I don’t,” he admitted, slightly nervous. “And this’ll be my first time as a coach. But I’ll do my best to help the team.”

Another pause.

“That’s good,” Sara said at last. “Our team could use some help.”

Marcel gave a small nod, unsure if the silence that followed meant the conversation was over or still loading.

Sara reopened her book, reached for a pencil, and began making margin notes with slow, careful strokes. Her voice came without her lifting her eyes:

“I don’t skip classes because I’m lazy. Don’t get the wrong idea.”

Karen blinked, then gave a small smirk. “Didn’t say you were.”

Sara turned a page. “People assume things when you’re not visible. But most lectures are inefficient. I can cover the syllabus in a fraction of the time.”

She finally looked up, not with defiance, but with that same unreadable neutrality.

“I attend when there’s value. Guest lectures. Difficult topics. Exams. Group work, if I must.”

Marcel stayed quiet, struck by how methodical she was. It wasn’t arrogance; it felt more like survival.

Karen added gently, “I heard that during last semester she even got higher scores than the professors who graded her.”

Sara didn’t react to the compliment. Instead, she tapped a notebook with her pencil.

“Anything else you need from me?”

“No. Thanks for your time, Sara,” Marcel said, cutting in before Karen could respond. “It seems like you’re really busy.”

Sara nodded, still not looking at them.

“I must make up for the wasted time.” A pause. “Good luck with the team, Coach.”