Her most favorite of places to be are places where there are books. Libraries, bookstores, hidden coffee shops, study halls, old houses, and her very own bookshelf. Stepping into a room full of books envelopes her in its smell that makes delightful goose bumps erupt on her skin. The sounds of books are always the same: a swift flip of a page, a stifled giggle from a girl with her nose in a book, the creak of the floor when she stands on her toes to slide a book off a shelf much taller than she.
But this time, something new.
She gasped. Instead of an empty slot staring back at her from the book she had pulled off only moments ago, was a face. The girl found herself paralyzed, staring into eyes that could only belong to those of a tiger. They were a brilliant shade of green with golden flecks of amber. When his eyes met hers, massive fireworks began exploding uncontrollably in her chest. The world around him was fuzzy. All she could see were his eyes and her desire to stare in to them forever. The longer she looked, the further she slipped into a time warp in the galaxy. She tried to look away, but his dreamy gaze held her captive.
Upon realizing her audacity to be staring into a stranger’s eyes for an exceptionally long time, she averted her eyes, not wanting to be thought of as a gonzo. She laughed nervously, apologizing. Yet his eyes remained unwavering on her face. She imagined her face turned a lovely shade of scarlet. He arched an eyebrow, challenging the girl. It was a cold war. Who would look away first? She bit her lip and crossed her arms around the book.
“So,” said the boy in a voice smoother than ancient river stones, “what’s your name?”
She gazed down at the book in her arms: Jane Eyre. “Jane. My name… my name is Jane,” she replied in a voice that instantly revealed the fallacy.
“Fine,” he said, following her eyes to the book cradled in her arms, “my name is Rochester.”