Page 44 of Hannah.
This room is not just an office; it’s a sanctuary where history, culture, and research blend seamlessly, fueling Johan’s passion for uncovering the human story.
“This place suits you,” I tell him, my words sincere.
“Thanks.” Our eyes lock for a moment, our lips smiling at each other, and his proximity makes my heart flutter. When we realize what’s happening, Johan clears his throat and averts his gaze from mine. “So, let’s see what Amelia left you.”
Eager to share my treasures, I take the letter and map from my bag and hand them to Johan. With gentle hands, Johan takes them each, one at a time, reading the letter first. Once he’s finished, he opens the map, and it unfurls across the table, the thick parchment needing some smoothing to lay flat. Johan leans in, fingers tracing the same lines I’ve studied a few times since I first opened the map.
“Let’s see what exactly Amelia wants us to do here,” he muses, pulling the bright lamp attached to the desk lower to see every little detail on the map. “She has two places marked out, and the first one is the Wren Library.” He looks up from the map to give me a lopsided grin, a lock of his hair falling over his forehead. “Care for a little field trip?”
Our first Amelia-led expedition takes us through the narrow cobblestone streets leading to the historic Wren Library. Johan’s expertise shines as he deftly maneuvers through campus. He doesn’t rush ahead of me, though, and our walk gives me so much pleasure, even if we are just on the way to solve a mystery. Would he spend time with me if we weren’t working towards a common purpose? I’m not sure, but I’m also not going to worry myself about it. I want to enjoy the here and now.
Approaching the Wren Library feels like walking into a scene from a movie set in academia. The outside has a classic red-brick charm, but its age is readily apparent. Stepping through the heavy wooden doors is like entering a different time.
Inside, it’s full of old, towering stacks. Sunlight spills in through big windows, giving the place a warm, inviting glow. The sturdy oak tables have seen their fair share of scholarly pursuits, and the white walls and ceiling alleviate some of the classic library stuffiness.
Again, I am infinitely thankful for his help when Johan’s authority gives us access to the restricted areas of the library. Something tells me that whatever we need to find isn’t going to be easily accessible.
“This place is enormous,” I whisper to him, taking in my surroundings. “How are we supposed to find anything in here?”
“Have a little faith,” Johan whispers back, and feeling his breath on the shell of my ear makes me shiver.
Johan leads the way with a confident stride; his enthusiasm is infectious, and for a moment, I actually believe that we will be able to find some resolution today.
As the minutes pass, some of that belief begins to dwindle. We haven’t found anything yet, but digging into the heart of the library, there is a simple joy of just being with Johan. Watching him work and seeing how brilliant he is are worth any amount of time we have to spend here.
Being with Johan in this pursuit feels surprisingly easy. The lines of our friendship blur with casual touches and simmering attraction. When he brushes my lower back with his hands as he passes by me or gently clasps my arm as we’re speaking, I feel like I could go up in flames right here on the spot.
We exchange glances, smiles, and the occasional shared discovery with an unspoken understanding. The layers of formality seem to peel away bit by bit.
The joy of the moment isn’t lost on me–-the laughter that escapes when we stumble upon a particularly quirky book, the shared excitement of deciphering cryptic clues, and the ease with which Johan navigates the shelves. Together in the Wren Library, the mystery at hand becomes a joint endeavor, and Johan’s company transforms the pursuit of knowledge into something undeniably fun.
Things come to a head when, intent on our mission, Johan and I move simultaneously towards a certain tome. Our fingers graze the book’s spine, and for a fleeting moment, time seems to halt. There’s a spark, a subtle jolt that resonates through the contact of our hands–an unexpected surge of energy that catches us both off guard.
In that fraction of a second, the air crackles with unspoken tension. Our eyes meet, a shared recognition of the charged atmosphere between us. “Hannah,” he breathes, but right when I think he’s going to say something more, Johan stops himself, turns away, and takes the book with him. “We finally got it. The first edition ofTwelfth Night.”
Damn. For a second there, I was sure he would confess something. Anything. I just want to know that I’m not alone in this yearning.
Johan takes the book to one of the desks and flips the light on. Amelia’s map had marked the Wren Library with a tiny drawing of a rose and number 1. Johan and I must have had the same idea at the same time, connecting the rose to a specific scene in the play.
I give him his space, but it only takes minutes for Johan to call for me quietly. “Hannah, come look at this.”
On the page where Viola, disguised as Cesario, uses a metaphor involving a rosebud when speaking with Orsino, there is a minuscule drawing of a rose near the inner crease, just likeon Amelia’s map. A spike of adrenaline runs through me when I see it.
“There it is!” I say, letting out a gasp. “What does it mean, Johan?”
“I’m not sure,” he leans back in his chair, contemplating the finding. “In this metaphor, Viola compares unexpressed love to a worm that destroys a rosebud from within, suggesting that hidden love can cause internal decay and sorrow.”
I can’t help but nod in understanding, relating to those words more than he could ever know.
Johan’s fingers trace the delicate lines of the rose on the page. His brow furrows as he thinks, his mind visibly churning through possibilities. He looks up at me, eyes sharp with realization. “Hannah, can I see the map again?” he asks.
I pull the map from my bag and spread it out on the desk beside the book. Johan and I examine it closely, our heads almost touching as we lean in. There, in the lower corner of the map, is the number 2 with a circle around it, positioned in the area that includes the Botanic Garden.
“The botanic garden,” I whisper. “Do you think that’s where we need to go next?”
Johan nods slowly. “It makes sense. The number 2 logically would indicate where to go next, and the circle includes a few random buildings and the botanic garden. Plus, there must be roses in the botanic garden, right?”
“Shall we go and check?”