YOU WALK INTO THE LIBRARY and keep your hand locked in a tight grip around the door handle to make sure it doesn't close with a bang. You smiled shyly, embarrassed to be a nice girl and a tumble of blonde curl fell as you removed your denim coat. It wasn't that bland colour that's just a shade nicer than the white of old age, it was streaked with warm reddish hues and butterscotch. It gave you some warmth, complementing your pale face rather than making you look washed-out.

Then as you turned to look my way I found myself surprised all over again, you eyes were not the watery blue I'd expected, they were the colour of caramel and so were the freckles that lay over your nose and upper cheeks.

I could tell you were the nice girl. The good girl next door. The wallflower. You see things. You keep quiet. You help people. And you understand.

In that moment I realised I didn't want to be anywhere else. I want to be here, fully, watching you as you slow down when you make it to fiction. You dissappear into the stacks of endless words.

My gaze is directed from you to the schools quarterback as I feel him walk into my left shoulder. "Hey! Watch where you're goin'."

You appear now, with your intimate Natalie Portman smile, having heard the asshole. I look at you. You look at him and he's still looking at me... Waiting.

"Sorry, my bad." I say and he knows I don't mean it, hates that he craves platitudes from a stranger. When he's gone I call out, because you're listening. "Motherfucker!"

You walk over to the section I'm in and you laugh and shake your head. You're listening to me at the point when most people drift, go into their phone. You're fingers trail delicately over the spines of the books on your way over. Your way over to me.

"What an asshole."

"Eh, he's probably just having a bad day." You're a sweetheart, I can tell. You see the best in people. I could also tell you were pure and had spirit. I could already feel fierce protectiveness for you.

You had a voice that was like music under a summer breeze, almost lost against the noise of the Friday afternoon traffic outside. Yet somehow it took hold of me, making me want to listen all the more.

"I'm Will." I spoke, holding out my hand to clasp yours. Be polite. "Will Parrish."

"Love Campbell."

Well, hello Love. What a name. Makes sense. I can see it in your eyes there's a kindness there. You care about people. Almost... Too much.

You stood with a hip jutted to one side, right arm draped across your slender body, clasping the elbow opposite. Your head lolled down to one shoulder casting your curled hair onto the faded Guns and Roses t-shirt that was two sizes too big. It hung so low that your shorts only just peeked below the dirty hem, a fringe of denim cut-offs. You were rather petite and dainty. Delicate, if you will.

After slowly releasing my hand, you flicked your wrist and checked the watch that was tightly wrapped around your left arm.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yeah, my study buddy." You say, a smile gracing your pretty features.

"Is she late?"

A smile flashed across your face from beneath reems of hair. It created slight dimples and creases that moved your freckles. Even though it was gone quickly, it was still there. "He is always late."

Uh oh. He. That's never a good sign. That could mean one of two things. 1) He was in fact, the stereotypical jock that was failing his class and you had to help him boost his grade, otherwise he would get kicked off the team. And 2) Your study buddy was code for fuck buddy.

Suddenly, you looked at your watch again. Without being any closer I knew it was expensive. The gold glinted so casually in the early light.

"Are you in a rush?"

"Kind of. My sisters boyfriend is having a party tonight." Your eyes widen in mock excitement. "I promised I would stop by the house to grab a few things."

"I mean, I can tell your friend... If you'd like. Let him know that you had to go."

"I don't know, I'd feel pretty bad about leaving him stranded." I can see it. The guilt you feel at even contemplating the idea. You're sweet, but I knew that already.

"No it's fine, seriously. Who are you meeting?"

"Uh, Peter." You begin, proving just how trusting you really are. Maybe that's your weakness. "Peter Jones."

"Oh, Peter, yeah. He tutored me freshman year."

You grinned, eyesbrows raised as you twiddled with your hair in seemingly absent-minded way. "He did?"

No he did not.

"Yeah, great guy."

"Are you sure it's okay?" You asked with uncertainty clear in your voice as you slid your hand into your pocket, teeth softly biting into your lower lip. Fuck.

"Yeah, totally."

"God, I can't thank you enough." You blush. You are Charlotte's Web and I could love you.

The thing is, you don't have to thank me, Love. I would do anything for you.

"Dont worry about it, I'm happy to help."

However, all you did was shake your head with a small smile. "Well, I should get going. I'll see you around, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah sure."

However, just as you are about to leave the C-D stack you turn and look my way.

"Do you... Maybe wanna come to that party I was telling you about." Your voice was quieter now, less sure. You looked back up at me; a gentle flush of pink had arisen in your cheeks that made you look vulnerable. "It's house number nineteen on Bowery Street."

"Say it's my way of thanking you." You dipped your head down; never someone to be loud or extroverted.

Our eyes met, and we stared together at each other, alone in space. "Sure, I'll see you there."

"Great, I'll see you tonight."

Frank Zane once said, 'The more you're obsessed by something the better chance you have of achieving it.' Well, Love... We'll just have to see if that's true.

So, what did I do after you left? I had to be sure you were safe. I wouldn't classify it as stalking. It's not stalking if you don't follow them home, right? Well, your name was a glorious place to start. Not a lot of Love Campbells on Facebook. And there you were... Birthday, Job, Relationship, Check-ins... Relationship?

Relationship.

What. The. Fuck.

I know who you are. The cover of your story. The books you read, the places you go, your 'relationships'. What you want the world to see. I see your swirly font and bright colours, but what are you inside? A thriller. A mystery. A romanticist.

That's the question. Who are you, deep down? A romantic at heart, aching for our happily ever after. Or are you a troublemaker. Admit it. Does being bad made you feel good? Not everyone can be that innocent without a dark side.

Or maybe... Just maybe you're a cynic. Maybe you don't believe in the one. And you need me to prove to you. Tell me who you really are, and I'll find you.

If I keep being the perfect guy. The perfect guy for you, you'll realise. I'm not a maybe.

I'm the one.

Well, this is it. It's the prologue of the book and I'm not even happy with it. Please show your support and leave feedback I'm desperate to know what you all think!