The Unrequited

by Saffron A. Kent

Then I get to work. I trade books on the G shelf with the ones on the F. I laugh to myself, cackling as I imagine people getting confused.

I bend down and retrieve a pen from my bag and underline his name. Once. Twice. Three times in purple glitter ink. Then I draw a circle around it. I tell my hands to stop, but they don’t.

“How can you work here? Isn’t it too loud?” “I like it. It reminds me of home,” I mumble. “Where did you live, a playground?”

“A lover is the one who waits,” he paraphrases. “Then, I’ll wait. Forever.”