Evander Blackwood, alive before me, wears a light brown suit with a hint of 20s style, a vest, and a pocket square. I peek around the table, half expecting to find a walking stick leaning against it. He whispers something to the guide standing next to him, who appears to be an older lady. As she passes me, the scent of woolen lavender leaves behind her. 

He takes a small, leathery notebook from his suit pocket and writes something to it. I have a brief moment of solitude, almost as if everyone has forgotten I am there, but then he looks up and turns those intense, dark blue eyes on me. 

"Oh my god! Oh my god!! OMG!!!,..." My mind races as I try to look like this is my everyday bread and smile coolly back. I can't help but squeak silently because, up close, he's even more striking. This near, I can truly smell his aftershave, see tiny wrinkles around his eyes, and notice a flicker of weariness in his smile.

"H- hi," I manage to say stupidly. "I'm Sophie, and I just wanted to tell you how much this book means to me." I blurt out, and all the nice words I had planned to say slip away into an unreachable hole. My cheeks start to tingle with embarrassment. I’m sure I’m the thousandth person who has said exactly that to him. That much originality, huh?

"This book... it lifted my spirits during a tough time. I love Momo, she is my favorite character, and Lavinia, and even the villains are great—especially Yorick. His fate touched me..." My voice falters, making it hard to continue.

"Thank you, Sophie," he saves me, maintaining his intense gaze. But instead of making me more nervous, it soothes me and is easier to breathe.

"It's always a pleasure to meet someone who finds my work helpful," his voice is deep and melodic (of course it is). 

“I will recommend the book to my customers,” I say in a normal, steady voice, but as I see him slightly raise an eyebrow, I hastily add, “I mean, when I start working at a library next week and meet the customers.”

"Congratulations! I'm sure you will be successful working there," he says, stretching out his hand, obviously targeting the book I hold on tightly.

"I'm sure you want me to sign it," he says, and I sense a slight amusement in his voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Of course, I do."

My fingers tremble slightly as I hand him my worn-down copy of "Mystery at the Shakespeare Club.” He takes it from my hands and glances down at its tattered corners, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. For a moment, I feel he wants to say something, but instead, he simply flips it open, ready to sign.

"Do you have any requirements you would like me to write?"

Once more, his deep blue eyes meet mine, demanding an answer. I should have prepared something beforehand. Why didn't I do that? "To Sophie" is far too bland. But suddenly, I find myself losing any coherent thought about what I should ask. How stupid of me, I decide. My years at the university did not prepare me for this moment. I sigh inwardly, disappointed in myself.

"Just... just a few inspiring words will be fine," I finally manage to say. "Something that reminds me to keep going, even when it's hard."

Evander nods at me, and a hint of a smile flickers at the corners of his lips. He leans over the book and takes the stylish pen from the table. His hand moves swiftly across the page as he writes a message for me. Then he closes the cover and hands the book back to me, and for the briefest moment, his fingers brush against mine. That sudden touch sends a shiver through my body, making it difficult for me to keep a straight face.

"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise, Sophie," he recites the words he wrote, turning back to me. "This may be a cliché, but it's very true. I hope the sun has risen for you."

"That's from Victor Hugo. Thank you, Mr. Blackwood. I love his poems so much. Those are less well-known, overshadowed by Les Misérables. Undeniably so, as it is a great classic," I say, my voice thick with emotion when I recognize the famous quote from one of my favorite writers. "And yes, now it is much better, thank you for asking."

"I'm glad to hear it. Have you read his works? Even his poetry?"

"Yes. I love many romance-era authors, but he holds a special place in my heart. Even though he was a notorious womanizer, but—" My voice fades as I hear a subtle cough from the guide's direction.

While we were talking, she had returned to her place. A glance at the guide, along with the weight of the line's impatience pressing on my neck, harshly reminds me that our limited time is running out.

"I'm afraid our time has come to an end. Thank you, Sophie," he says, a faint smile on his lips, but his eyes turn emotionless. His fingers tighten around the pen he is still holding.

"Thank you, Evander."

I linger for a moment, trying to capture one final image of him. He runs his fingers through his dark, nearly jet-black hair as his focus shifts to the next person. And I just melt there, but the situation forces me to step further away.

I whisper one last time, "Thank you, Mr. Blackwood," but he probably can't hear me.