The sound of the shuffling of heavy books and the sporadic flipping of pages interrupted Ana’s concentration. She looked around the library, scowling, in an attempt to glare at the inconsiderate culprit.
Her eyes landed on a rude thin young man moving several books about frantically, searching for something within the pages. He stopped suddenly, his index finger stabbing at some word she couldn’t make out from that distance. His eyes grew wide and a smile crossed his face. She gathered he had found the treasure he sought.
Ana liked him already.
A consummate bookworm, etymology was her favorite aspect of a person’s character. Absentmindedly, she watched the man. It was obvious he was kind.
Ana’s mind ran ahead of her from one adjective to the next, dulling her ears to the incessant tapping of her No. 2 pencil against the wooden table.