Romance, Rhea Valencia decided, was a luxury for people who didn't have three part-time jobs, back-to-back lectures, and dark circles under their eyes.
She closed the last library cart with a tired click and glanced at the digital clock on the wall.
9:47 PM. Two hours left on her shift.
Outside the tall windows of the Rosevale University Library, she could see couples walking under the glowing lamplights, hands barely brushing, laughter echoing in the rain-washed campus paths. Inside, in the library's reading nooks, some whispered across shared books, their knees touching under tables, lips dangerously close to a kiss.
It must be nice, Rhea thought, turning away.
To be wanted without a time slot. To be loved without scheduling around exam week.
She'd tried once. Maybe twice. But dates always ended with an excuse, a text that faded, or a silence that never really broke.
Rhea dragged the cart deeper into the restricted wing of the library — the "Forgotten Stacks." No one ever came here. Most students didn't even know this section existed. Only faculty or trained student workers were allowed to access the antique collections.
As she reaches the restricted wing a couple was making out almost unbotton their clothes.
"This is not a park," she muttered, leveling a withering stare at the couple pressed against the ancient oak shelves near the mythology section. "I will throw a copy of Beowulf at your heads."
She just hated them when they made out in front of her — while she was alphabetizing nonfiction books in a dusty corner of the campus library, alone, and in desperate need of caffeine.
The pair broke apart with a sheepish laugh and scurried away. Rhea sighed and resumed her shelving, stretching to return a book on celestial gods to the top row. The air smelled of old pages and static. Her arms ached.
Her soul was somewhere between final exam burnout and emotional
bankruptcy.
College life wasn't easy.
Being a working student made it worse.
Dating? That was a joke.
Love, Rhea thought bitterly, was a luxury for people who didn't have three part-time jobs, mandatory group projects, and six hours of sleep across three days.
She didn't mind solitude — until it looked her in the face in the form of kissing undergrads and happily-ever-after couples whispering over poetry anthologies.
So no. She didn't hate love.
She just hated watching it happen like a movie she was never cast in.
As she shifted her weight to reach for another book, the shelf above her rattled — and then—
Crash.
Three heavy tomes tumbled toward her head.
"Watch out!"
Before she could react, an arm strong and protective shot out behind her.
The book thudded harmlessly to the floor.
A man — tall, dressed in black, half-shadowed by the dim lamplight — knelt to retrieve it.
He handed her the fallen volume, his eyes unreadable.
"This doesn't belong here," he said, voice quiet but firm.
She blinked. "...Sorry?"
But when she looked up again — he was gone.
She turned the book over in her hands. The cover was deep burgundy leather, bound in gold trim. No title on the spine. Just an engraving on the front:
A Moonlit Oath.
She frowned. She knew that name. It was a fantasy romance novel she'd once skimmed through at a secondhand shop.
A kingdom on the brink. A cold prince cursed by love. A destined heroine.
Weird place for it to be, she thought. And weird guy to be dropping books about curses.
Still… curiosity stirred. She slipped into a chair, opened the book to its first page, and began to read.
The words glowed faintly under her fingertips.
"Under oath and moonlight, she was bound—"
She didn't even notice sleep taking her.
Somewhere far away...
A wedding bell began to toll.