Promising student and avid reader, Zahra Calimeris, attends a book club where she meets Romero Vitale; A judicious professor and bibliophilic aesthete.
book 1 | ongoing
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I SWUNG OPEN the closet door, scanning the cramped space. Books were piled haphazardly on the top shelf, taking up the only free vertical space left in my apartment. As I struggled to put on a sock without losing my balance, I rifled through the color-coordinated contents, trying to decide what to wear.
A baby blue sweater caught my eye, but I quickly dismissed it - too hot for today. Despite it being cooler than the recent days, it was still predicted to be balmy in the afternoon. I settled on a sleeveless white button-up corset top with delicate ruffles and a cute lace trim. It could be chilly on its own if the temperature dropped, but paired with a light jacket, it would be just right.
I grabbed the pair of black pants I had laid out on my bed and slipped them on with the top. I plucked my brush from the bedside dresser and ran it through my long hair, noticing it had almost reached my hips and was probably long overdue for a trim.
Swiftly, I examined my reflection in the vanity mirror and stole a glance at my watch. My old alarm clock had malfunctioned sometime in the night, and I was running slightly behind schedule. I applied a coat of lip gloss to my lips and nodded in satisfaction before quickly scurrying out of my apartment and heading towards my car.
As I sunk into the driver's seat, I silently thanked Mandy for having her radio blasting so early in the day. Without it, I might have overslept and been late. Although, to be fair, my inconsistent sleeping schedule was mostly to blame. I couldn't resist staying up late to finish reading a book that had just reached an irresistible one-bed trope.
I inserted the key into the ignition, ignoring the engine's sputtering cough and the puff of smoke that emanated from the back, and drove off.
❀ ❀ ❀
I pulled at the loose piece of skin around my nail, fixated on its movement down my finger. I winced when it finally tore off, a sharp sting radiating through my fingertip.
"Sorry I'm late," a woman burst into the room, her voice breathless as she juggled a sandwich in one hand, a notebook in the other, and a pen clamped between her teeth. She plopped down on the emerald, velvet chair in front of me.
"Zahra, how are you?" she asked nonchalantly, placing her things on the desk. "I was so surprised when you called for an appointment. It's been a while since we've seen each other."
"I'm good, Dr. Linneker," I greeted her with a smile. "How are you today?"
"Oh, you know, same old, same old." She waved her hands, the notebook slipping from her grasp and tumbling to the ground. Papers scattered across the floor, and she scrambled to collect them. "Just another hectic day in the office, you know how it is."
"So," Dr. Linneker tapped the sheets of paper on the desk to line them up before sliding them in the paper tray on the corner of the desk. "What's been going on?" Her intense stare honed in on me, signaling that she was prepared to delve into the root of my call.
