Mastermind - Hyunho

Mastermind

Once upon a time, the planets and the fates
And all the stars aligned
You and I ended up in the same room
At the same time

Minho's silhouette graced the library's threshold as he nudged the door open with his back. The delicate balance of books in his arms swayed precariously, a tower of knowledge teetering on the brink of collapse. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, endowing him with an air of scholarly diligence that was both his armor and his truth.

"Ah, Minho, right on time as always," Mrs. Choi greeted from behind the circulation desk, her smile warm like a sunbeam. Her eyes crinkled with genuine fondness for the quiet young man who treated the library as a sanctuary.

"Good morning, Mrs. Choi," Minho replied, the words cocooned in the soft hush of the library. He approached the desk with measured steps, the reverence for his surroundings evident in the gentle way he laid down his burdensome stack.

"Today's mission, should you choose to accept it," Mrs. Choi began, her voice laced with a playful undertone, "is to conquer the realms of Fiction, from A to Z." She handed him a slip of paper, a map charting the uncharted territories of returned novels awaiting their rightful place in the grand scheme of shelves.

"Challenge accepted," Minho responded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was an unspoken game between them, this dressing of mundane tasks in the cloak of adventure, and it was one of the few things that could coax a spark of light into his guarded expression.

"Your dedication is truly the heart of this library," she continued, her praise a gentle nudge for him to acknowledge his own worth. "I sometimes wonder if the books whisper their thanks when you walk by."

"Books are excellent secret keepers," Minho mused, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose—a fortress preparing its defenses. "They only speak when you want them to."

"Spoken like a true guardian of stories," Mrs. Choi said with a laugh. Minho nodded, accepting the compliment in silence as he turned towards the towering shelves, his hands itching to bring order to the literary chaos. It was in these simple tasks, the sorting and shelving, that he found a soothing rhythm.

Minho slid the first book into its rightful place with a satisfying click, the spine flush against its neighbors. His fingers danced along the title, each slide, each tuck was a gesture of care. The tranquility of his task was a balm, the soft shuffle of pages a lullaby for his often-restless thoughts about life, the universe, and the multiple theories he read about for his courses at college. He was a student of physics, so existential thoughts were a common denominator. He moved from one aisle to the next, his steps as measured and familiar as the steady tick-tock of the grandfather clock standing sentinel by the entrance. But as the minute hand inched forward, an unexpected interruption fractured the stillness.

A draft of fresh air flirted through the aisles as the door swung open, heralding the arrival of another soul seeking refuge among the tomes. Or probably it was just someone looking for the restroom, as it often happened.

A young man stepped inside, his tall frame casting a long shadow that sliced through the sunbeams spilling across the floor. His hair, the color of ripened wheat under the summer sun, glowed softly in the muted light. His presence seemed to stir the air, each step sending ripples through the library's atmosphere. Minho glanced up from his task, his eyes snagging on the newcomer—a vibrant splash of color in the monochrome silence. It wasn't just the brightness of the guy's sweater, a hue reminiscent of blooming marigolds.

Minho watched, almost against his will, as the young man moved with an effortless grace that belied the size of his frame. There was an artistry to his gait, a poetry in motion that spoke of confidence and a life painted in strokes bold and broad. For a fleeting moment, Minho wondered what it would be like to move through the world with such certainty, to hold gazes as easily as he did.