He slipped on the glasses.
And just like that, time began to blur, steady, unbothered, the way it always did when no one was watching. Books opened. Notes scrawled. Pages flipped.
By the time he finally closed his notebook and took off his glasses, the sky outside the window had already darkened from golden-orange to deep indigo.
The library emptied slowly around him, until only a few scattered students remained—ghosts of midterms, caffeinated and hunched like tired gargoyles over their screens.
His body ached from sitting too long, and as he stood, he let out a quiet groan and stretched like a cat coming out of hibernation. Muscles popped. Spine cracked. Mind, however, felt slightly clearer.
"Ugh. At this rate my spine's gonna file a lawsuit."
He packed up his stuff, shook the numbness from his legs, and walked back out into the cool evening.
…
