Ghosts of the Library

Friday evenings at Valerio & Co. felt different from the rest of the week. The office, usually filled with urgent footsteps and ringing phones, began to breathe slower after six o’clock. The soft hum of the AC filled the silence, and the glass walls reflected only dimmed light and tired faces ready to head home.

Elira wasn’t one of them.

She stayed behind, hunched over her desk with a half-empty mug of coffee and eyes scanning over the final set of investor notes. She wanted everything perfect. Liam hadn’t asked her to stay late—but that made her want to work harder. She hated being mediocre. She always had.

The elevator dinged once, signaling that someone else was still lingering. Curious, she got up, documents in hand, and padded quietly down the hall. Liam’s office light was still on. Of course it was.

She hesitated. Then knocked twice.

“Come in,” his voice called from behind the frosted glass.

She pushed the door open gently, finding him at his desk, sleeves rolled up, tie discarded, and a pair of sleek reading glasses perched on his nose. A different kind of Liam than the one she usually saw—less polished, more human.

“I have the final report,” she said softly.

He looked up and smiled—an actual, not-just-for-business smile. “You’re still here?”

“I wanted to finish it. Figured you’d still be around too.”

“Guilty.” He gestured to the leather chair across from his desk. “Sit for a minute?”

She hesitated. “Sure.”

The room was quieter than she expected. No music, no city noise—just the subtle rustle of papers and the hum of the city behind glass. She sat upright, unsure if this was a work moment or something else.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Liam began, removing his glasses and folding them neatly. “Do you remember me?”

She blinked. “From…?”

“College,” he said. “Second-year economics. Literature elective. And two business strategy seminars.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

“You were there?” she asked, disbelieving. “I mean—I remember the classes, but…”

“I always sat near the back,” he said, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You were the girl in the second row. Always with that gray scarf. Always focused. Like nothing else in the world existed but your notes.”

Elira felt heat rise to her cheeks. That scarf had been her mother’s. The only thing that kept her warm in the underheated campus lecture halls. She’d worn it until the fabric frayed.

“I was... busy,” she said. “I had to work nights and study during breaks. I didn’t really look around much.”

“I noticed,” Liam said quietly. “You never talked to anyone. Never smiled. But I remember thinking… you were the most determined person I’d ever seen.”

She looked at him then—really looked.

“How do you remember so much?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I watched.”

Her breath caught. The idea that this man—this successful, composed, intimidating CEO—had once been a quiet presence in the same lecture halls, just a few seats away, watching her… it shook something loose in her chest.

“You never said anything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You looked like you didn’t want anyone to,” he replied gently. “Back then, I wasn’t who I am now. I was just a guy getting through school, trying to figure things out. I knew better than to interrupt someone who was surviving.”

Elira swallowed the lump in her throat. That version of her, the one from college, was a shadow she carried even now. Always rushing. Always scraping by. Always trying to prove she belonged.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “If I came off cold.”

“You weren’t cold,” he said. “You were tired. That’s not the same.”

For a moment, the office faded. The reports, the hierarchy, the glass walls—all of it melted away, and they were just two people remembering the ghosts of who they used to be.

“I can’t believe you remembered the scarf,” she said softly.

“You wore it every day. How could I forget?”

She smiled then. A small, real smile. “I still have it.”

Liam leaned back in his chair, watching her. “You know, sometimes I wondered what would happen if I said something back then.”

“What stopped you?”

“You were running a race I wasn’t ready to join,” he said. “I didn’t want to slow you down.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was reflective. And full of possibility.

After a moment, Elira stood, smoothing her skirt. “I should let you get back to work.”

He stood too. “Thanks for the report. And… for the company.”

She nodded, feeling strangely weightless as she walked back to her desk.

That night, when she finally made it home, she reached into the bottom drawer of her dresser and pulled out a folded piece of gray wool.

Frayed edges. Worn threads. The scent of something long gone.