The elevator dings as it opens on a largely open floor, shattering the expectant silence between us. We creep out into the stacks like secret agents, furtively scouting the floor. It’s late winter, well before midterms, and we’re almost alone. Almost.
I find an open study carrel and duck inside, beckoning her in after me. The sun streams in through the window lazily, warmer here than it is outside. I look at her and nod.
“Ok,” I say, a little nervously.
She nods in return, takes a deep breath, and pulls her shirt over her head.
Her jeans follow soon after, and as she steps out of them she’s suddenly all smiles.
“Let’s do this.” She says, and steps over to the window, letting herself fall languidly against the glass. It’s cold, and she laughs, and I laugh too.
I start taking pictures with breathless focus, her slender, young curves catching the light and turning it brighter, it seems, and more vivid. And I know, all the while, we could be interrupted at any second, but that doesn’t stop me, and I keep going until her smile suddenly fades and she looks nervous again.
“That’s enough, right?” She asks, and I nod tensely. It is more than enough.
She gets dressed, quickly, and it’s like watching her put on the heavy weight of meekness as she slips back into her everyday. Even now, looking at the pictures, it’s hard to believe I’m looking at the same person.
Night Worlds 