It’s gorgeous, Rion. Seriously, this is way beyond what I expected. The library can’t afford something this nice, though.
His response came quickly:
Consider it a donation. I enjoy building useful things.
Something warm spread through my chest.Thank you. That’s incredibly generous.
Instead of a text reply, he sent another image—a close-up photo of a woodworking tool I didn’t recognize, resting on what looked like a blueprint.
Starting the preliminary work today.
The idea of Rion in his workshop, those powerful hands carefully crafting something specifically for me—for my library—made me feel strangely emotional. I sent back:
I can’t wait to see it. And I promise not to break it with my legendary klutziness.
The next morning, I woke to a text that must have been sent late at night:
How did you become a librarian?
The personal question surprised me. Until now, he had kept our conversations primarily focused on immediate topics or practical matters. This felt like him reaching out, trying to know me better. I replied while eating breakfast:
I’ve always loved books—they were my escape growing up. My mom was a teacher so I’d hang in the school library after school while I waited for her. When I went to college, I studied literature, then got my Master’s in Library Science. It felt like coming home.
I hesitated, then added:What about you? How did you become an architect?
His reply didn’t come until midday:
I’ve always been fascinated by structures and spaces. It comes naturally to me. I’ve worked as a stonemason and a builder, but creating spaces where people feel secure yet free speaks to something deep within me.
That’s beautiful. Creating sanctuaries for others while building your own. Makes perfect sense, given your home.
After sending it, I felt bold enough to follow up with:
What about your parents?
His response came after a longer pause:
They have been gone for a long time. It can be… lonely.
The admission caught me off guard. Rion, who seemed so self-sufficient, so contained, admitting to loneliness. I wanted to reach through the phone and… what? Hug him? Hold his hand? Assure him he wasn’t alone anymore?
I settled for:
I can’t imagine. But I’m glad our paths crossed, even if it was because of my terrible texting skills and ladder emergency.
His reply made me smile:
As am I.
The bull emoji nearly made me drop my phone. It was so unexpectedly perfect—serious yet playful, acknowledging his nature while making light of it. I found myself grinning at my screen like an idiot.
That evening, as I curled up on my couch with tea and a book, I sent one more text:
Reading anything good lately?
His reply came a few minutes later:
Revisiting Vitruvius’ “De Architectura.” The Romans understood something about harmony and proportion that many modern architects have forgotten. You?
