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It was her table.
It didn't have a sign or anything on it. You're sure that others sat at it from time to time. You'd even see others there, whether researchers from Liyue trying to learn more about their various areas of interest or even librarian Lisa herself furtively lounging there on days when her slouch and her hands over her eyes make it clear that she has simply had enough of her patrons that day. It was deep in a shadowed corner of the stacks, with only a desk light with a dusty shade adorning the table. There was nothing that would draw most visitors to it.
But maybe that’s why it was her table. She didn’t have to feel like people were watching her, or acquaintances wondering why she was outside of her lab or asking what sort of work she was doing. It was safe.
You’d been in the library every few days since you moved to Mondstadt, traveling from your temporary home in a nearby village to read up on the area and maaaaaybe to borrow the throwaway fiction you enjoyed next to the communal fire every night. It was a cheap, cozy recreation. No one asked you where you were from or why you needed books. The people who asked such questions would never darken the doorway of this place to begin with. Wherever you went, there was a library, and where there was a library, there you were.
So it didn’t take long for you to see the slight wisp of a girl huddled behind stacks of books at her table. She piled them up as if they were the castle walls, surrounding her from every angle to keep her safe from watchful eyes. In the first few visits, you paid little attention to her as was clearly her design. But every so often, the ramparts fell as two stacks were moved slightly apart from one another and you could glance inside. And what you saw was the pinnacle of concentration–her glasses teetering on the edge of her nose, her eyes piercing into the pages of whatever tome she consulted.
But what got your second look, and all other looks from that point forward, were her ears.
Under normal operating conditions, her ears were hidden under disorderly strands of green. But when you could see her at the times she could not be seen, and she read something that had to be of intense interest or inspiration? The furry tips of her pointed ears would perk out from her hair, standing up and belying what was happening inside her head.
You’d learned throughout your years that one of the most intriguing things in the world was to witness greatness at work. Whether it was the local hunters tracking game, or the village grillmaster preparing game for a feast (or even this particularly odd red-clad stranger creeping through the area with a camera and monocle clearly trying to take the perfect photo), excellence coupled with intensity was beauty. And when the girl was intensely interested in whatever she was reading, you couldn’t take your eyes off of her.
Thankfully she never noticed you staring. You did your best to hide yourself, but every once in a while you’d catch yourself with a start and return to your book, but you thought you caught the chief librarian arching an eyebrow in response out of the corner of your eye.
She’d work for hours. Her concentration was…impressive? Admirable?
Attractive. It was attractive. And you needed to figure out a way to see a tiny bit more of it. There’s no way you’d do the typical…you couldn’t wait around at the Cat’s Tail for her to get a drink because she didn’t socialize in the ways that you would have noticed. And there was little chance that you’d go sit at the table with her or try to strike up a direct conversation. It would be like trying to tackle a hummingbird…you’d terrify the poor creature and you’d end up with nothing but air in your arms. No, this was going to require some thought. Some planning. Some…mental exercise.
One day, when you lucked into her being at the library again when you were there relaxing, she was interrupted by another person. You didn’t know who he was, but he was clearly interested in what she was doing. They pointed at pages excitedly, whispered in hushed tones about something on the page, and both rushed out. But she had left her work on the table amongst her books indicating that she’d have to come back soon to retrieve it.
This was your chance. And you were ready to roll the dice.
Sucrose hurried back through the door of the library about an hour later. You were long gone by now, but the work had been done. She rushed past the librarian’s desk as Lisa greeted her with a nod but continued watching intently with a tiny smile barely perceptible on her face. Sucrose rushed to her chair, her hands already out to grab her papers.
And then she stopped, dead in her tracks, and stared in wonder at her place. There, on top of her papers, was a small flower. Its bloom turned back on its stem like a walking cane, and there was a luminescent glow from inside its petals. To the uninformed eye, it was no different than the other flowers that were scattered about the forest.
Sucrose stared at the plant. She glanced about the library as if to find its owner, even looking to Lisa as if she would either own the flower or know to whom it belonged.
Lisa simply shrugged, discreetly covering her grin with her hand.
Sucrose looked about once more, then slowly sat in her chair and picked up the lamp grass as if it were made of porcelain. She examined it this way and that, bringing her eyes up to the flower to examine it carefully. Again, most would not have seen anything unusual with it. But Sucrose was not “most”. You see, the glow from inside this particular flower was a bit brighter than an average example, and the color of its light was slightly more yellow than blue. It had taken you three consecutive days of searching through the Whispering Woods for such a specimen and constant tending in your home to maintain its light, and you were hoping the investment of time would pay off.
If you had been there (as Lisa would inform you later), you would know how successful your gambit had been. Sucrose, completely engrossed by the subspecies, examined the flower for a good fifteen minutes, her previous concerns completely forgotten. She even scribbled down a couple of notes about the lamp grass into her notebook before gathering her papers into a confused pile in one arm…and carefully cradling the flower in the other. She rushed out of the library with the lot.
Over the next couple of days, you returned to your usual spot, and the biochemist returned to hers. While her spot had not changed, her schedule had. Every day she arrived around that same time, and every day she glanced about the library as she entered and exited. You could tell that she noticed you, but you refused to interact with her beyond a perfunctory nod of greeting. She came, worked for a bit, and left.
From here, your plan continued. The next day, there was an unidentified bone in her spot. It was much less of an interest to the bioalchemist…she was an expert in such specimens and knew what it was. But now she knew that something was going on. She examined the library as if a wild animal would burst from a shadowy corner and consume her at any moment, ultimately landing on you.
You nodded to her, smiled slightly, and shrugged. Then you returned to your “work”.
Sucrose looked at the offering and then suddenly turned pink. It could no longer be considered a coincidence. She may not have been as skilled in romance as she was in biology, but even she could tell that something was going on. Even if she didn’t understand, she felt it.
The following day, you were not there when she arrived. You would not be there that day. But Sucrose was right on time. As she walked through the door, her eyes skipped past Lisa’s desk (who had been joined by a couple of “friends” who she had clearly invited to be there) to her chair.
This time, there was a bouquet of flowers resting on her table. Some of the most perfect, beautiful examples of the local flora were present, tied together with a pink ribbon.
Sucrose turned crimson. She tiptoed to her seat, eyes wide. She slowly reached her hands down, cradled the bouquet in her arms, and slowly inhaled their fragrance. As she slowly looked up to examine the room, this time she did not glance about or search for anything.
Instead, she looked directly at your seat. She blinked. Blinked again. And then turned an even darker shade than before.
On the table in front of your normal seat was a single small lamp grass, its stem secured by a pink bow.
Sucrose, slightly trembling, approached your spot. She quickly glanced over at Lisa’s desk (she was giggling with the other observers but somehow choked down her reactions when Sucrose looked), and she picked up the final flower. Attached to the ribbon was a small card. It read:
“I’ve reserved a table at the Cat’s Tail for lunch at midday today. If you’d like to join me, I’d be honored and pleased. If not, I apologize. Don’t feel obligated…but after being in the presence of such a delicate flower in this place for several days, I wanted to give you some of your own.”
Seconds passed like hours. The air hung thick with anticipation in the room. The books themselves loomed about as if they too were watching the scene play out before them, the stories contained within not enough to provide an appropriate ending.
Sucrose straightened. She slowly walked over to Lisa’s desk, taking deep breaths to steel herself for the next thing she would say.
Lisa choked down one more giggle before turning to the bioalchemist. “Good…good morning, sweetie. What can I do for you?”
“Mi-miss Lisa…could you take care for these flowers for me for a bit? Maybe a vase?”
“I–I–I have a…date.”