Chapter 16: The Library of Almosts

Ren found himself in the library, seated at a desk tucked in the farthest corner where the bookshelves curved into a cozy alcove. This wasn’t part of his usual routine—he hardly ever visited the library unless he needed to—but tonight, he was drawn here for reasons he couldn’t fully explain.

The room smelled faintly of old pages and wooden shelves, the kind of scent that wrapped itself around you like a forgotten memory. Outside, rain drummed softly against the tall windows, and the low murmur of students working on assignments filled the background.

Ren stared at the blank notebook in front of him, the pen in his hand frozen. He had told himself he’d write—about what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe just a list of thoughts. Maybe something more. But the words refused to come.

He tapped the pen against the edge of the desk. Once. Twice. Then sighed.

“What are you working on?”

Ren jumped slightly at the voice, looking up to see a girl standing beside his table. She wore round glasses that perched slightly crooked on her nose, her hands clasped behind her back. She didn’t look familiar, though something about the way she carried herself seemed oddly familiar.

“Nothing, really,” Ren answered, glancing back at his empty page. “Just... trying to get some thoughts down.”

The girl smiled softly, then gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Mind if I join you?”

Ren hesitated, but there was something disarming about her presence—gentle and unintrusive, like she belonged to the quiet spaces people usually overlooked.

“Sure,” he said, nodding toward the chair. “Go ahead.”

She sat down gracefully, setting a slim book on the table between them. The cover was plain, with no title or author, just a smooth gray surface that looked worn from use. Ren tilted his head, curious.

“What’s that?” he asked.

The girl rested her hand lightly on the cover. “Something I’ve been carrying around for a while. A journal, I guess.” She traced a finger along the edge of the book, as if the act of touching it brought some kind of comfort.

Ren couldn’t help but smile. “You write too?”

“Not exactly,” she replied, her tone thoughtful. “More like... I keep track of things that might have happened but didn’t.”

Ren blinked. “Like... what? Regrets?”

“Not regrets,” the girl corrected gently. “More like possibilities. Things that almost happened, but for whatever reason... didn’t.”

Ren leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “That sounds kind of heavy.”

She shrugged, her expression unreadable. “Not really. It’s just life, isn’t it? A collection of ‘almosts.’”

Ren thought about that for a moment, the weight of her words settling over him. He had spent so much time chasing perfect moments—trying to rewrite every mistake, every misstep—that he hadn’t stopped to consider how much of life was made up of the things that almost happened.

“Do you ever wish they did happen?” he asked quietly.

The girl smiled—a small, bittersweet curve of her lips. “Sometimes. But then I remind myself that even the things we miss have their place. They shape us in ways we don’t always understand.”

Ren looked down at the blank page in his notebook, the emptiness of it no longer feeling quite so daunting. Maybe it was okay to leave some things unwritten. Maybe some thoughts didn’t need to be captured, just lived.

“You’re different,” the girl said suddenly, breaking the silence between them.

Ren glanced up, startled. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head, studying him with the same quiet curiosity. “Like you’ve let go of something heavy. Something that was weighing you down.”

Ren chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “People keep telling me that.”

“Maybe it’s true, then,” she said with a wink, tapping the cover of her book. “Maybe you’ve finally figured out that not everything needs fixing.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, the rain outside growing heavier, pattering softly against the windows. Ren felt an odd sense of calm settle over him—like sitting at the edge of a decision and realizing, for the first time, that it didn’t matter which way he leaned. The world would keep turning, either way.

“So what brings you here?” Ren asked, more to keep the conversation going than anything else.

The girl smiled, her gaze distant. “Just passing through.”

Ren frowned slightly. “Passing through where?”

“Here,” she said simply. “Now.”

He opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but the words died on his tongue. Somehow, he knew she wouldn’t answer—not directly, anyway.

The sound of footsteps approached, and the girl glanced toward the aisle behind them. “Looks like my time’s up,” she said, standing gracefully. “Thanks for the company, Ren.”

“Wait,” Ren said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t catch your name.”

The girl smiled softly, her expression full of knowing. “That’s okay. You don’t need to.”

And just like that, she was gone—slipping between the shelves with the kind of ease that made Ren wonder if she had ever really been there at all.

For a moment, Ren sat in stunned silence, the memory of their conversation lingering like a faint echo. He glanced at the table, half-expecting the strange journal to still be there, but the surface was empty.

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Weird.”

Turning back to his notebook, Ren picked up his pen and finally began to write—not grand revelations or deep reflections, but small, simple things. A list of songs he wanted to listen to. A reminder to text Shun back. The name of a ramen place someone had mentioned earlier.

Small moments, collected on a page.

And for the first time in a long while, that felt like enough.

As he finished the list, the rain outside slowed, and the hum of the library softened into a comfortable quiet. Ren closed his notebook, slipping it into his bag. Life would go on—messy, unpredictable, full of almosts—but Ren was okay with that.

He had stopped chasing the perfect version of things. Now, he was just living the version that existed.