"But I like the chaos!" he argued. "It’s... intellectual clutter."

  "It is a fire hazard," she corrected. "And we are going to fix it."

  She walked over to him and held out her hand.

  "Come on, Doctor. Up."

  He looked at her hand. He looked at the couch. He looked back at her hand.

  He sighed, but he took it.

  "You’re a tyrant," he muttered, pulling himself up. "A well dressed tyrant."

  "I know," she smiled. "Let’s go."

  The library was a large room at the back of the house, lined floor to ceiling with dark wood shelves. It was filled with books. Thousands of them.

  And it was a mess. Stacks of books on the floor. Books leaning precariously on shelves. Books used as coasters.

  "Okay," Wanda said, hands on her hips. "This is... extensive."

  "It’s a collection," Aryan said defensively. "I inherited a lot of it."

  Wanda walked to a stack. She picked up a book. It was old and leather bound.

  She opened it. The text was Sokovian.

  She paused.

  "These are..." she whispered.

  "Sokovian folklore," Aryan said quietly, coming up behind her. "My... parents. They collected them. They wanted to preserve the stories."

  Wanda ran her hand over the page. In her vision, she had seen the other Wanda reading these books.

  She looked at Aryan. He was watching her carefully, gauging her reaction.

  "They are beautiful," she said. "We must treat them with respect."

  "Agreed," he said.

  "Alphabetical?" she asked.

  "By genre," he countered. "Then by author."

  "Acceptable."

  They got to work.

  It was slow work.

  "Mythology goes here," Wanda directed, pointing to the top shelf. "History on the bottom."

  "Is 'Legends of the Mountain King' history or mythology?" Aryan asked, holding a heavy tome.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "It is history," Wanda said firmly. "My grandmother swore she saw the Mountain King once."

  "Your grandmother also drank a lot of that cornflower tea," Aryan muttered, climbing the ladder.

  "She had the Sight," Wanda argued, handing him a stack of books.

  They argued over Dewey Decimal vs. The Spencer Method.

  They sneezed.

  They laughed.

  "You have dust on your nose," Aryan said, stopping on the ladder to look down at her.

  "You have dust everywhere," she retorted.

  At one point, Aryan was high up on the ladder, reaching for a top shelf. He stretched.

  "Careful," Wanda said, stepping closer to hold the ladder.

  "I’m fine," he said. "I have the balance of a cat."

  The ladder wobbled.

  "Whoa!"

  He steadied himself.

  "A clumsy cat," Wanda corrected.

  She didn't let go of the ladder. She stood there, looking up at him.

  Hours later, the room was transformed. The books were aligned. The floor was clear. The smell of old paper and lemon polish (Wanda’s touch) filled the air.

  Outside, the rain was still falling.

  "We did good," Aryan said, collapsing into a large leather armchair.

  Wanda sat in the matching chair opposite him.

  "Read to me," she said suddenly.

  Aryan blinked. "What?"

  "Read to me," she repeated. "One of the stories. My eyes are tired from sorting."

  It was an excuse. She just wanted to hear his voice.

  Aryan reached for a book on the small table between them. Tales of the Valley.

  "Okay," he cleared his throat. "Let’s see. 'The Shepherd and the Star'."

  He began to read.

  His voice was soothing. He read the Sokovian words with a perfect accent, rolling the 'r's just like her father used to.

  "Once, there was a shepherd who fell in love with a star that had fallen into his lake..."

  Wanda watched him.

  She wasn't listening to the plot. She was watching his lips move. She was watching the way his brow furrowed when he hit a difficult word. She was watching his hands turn the page.

  She leaned her chin on her hand, staring at him with a look so full of love it felt like it might burn a hole in the book.

  He looked up. He caught her staring.

  He stopped reading.

  "What?" he asked, flushing slightly. "Did I mispronounce 'reflection'?"

  "No," she whispered. "You are perfect."

  Aryan closed the book slowly.

  "The story..." he said, his voice a little rough. "It says they danced. At the end. To celebrate the star returning to the sky."

  "They danced?" Wanda asked.

  "Yeah. A waltz. Or... the Sokovian equivalent."

  He stood up.

  "Wanda," he said. "Do you know how to dance?"

  "I..." She hesitated. "I remember the steps. From weddings. But I have not danced in years."

  "Neither have I," he admitted. "But... the book says we should."

  He held out his hand.

  "Try it with me?"

  They moved to the living room. There was more space there.

  Aryan pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen.

  A slow melody filled the room. It was a violin piece. Sad, but beautiful.

  "Okay," he said, putting the phone down.

  He walked over to her.

  He took her left hand in his right. He placed his other hand on her waist.

  His touch was warm.

  "Step closer," he whispered.

  She stepped in. Their bodies were almost touching.

  "Right foot back," he instructed softly. "One, two, three. One, two, three."

  They began to move.

  It was clumsy at first. They stepped on each other’s toes.

  "Sorry," he winced.

  "My fault," she murmured.

  But then, they found the rhythm.

  One, two, three. One, two, three.

  They were turning. Spinning slowly in the dim light of the living room. The rain outside provided the percussion.

  She looked up at him. He was looking down at her.

  His eyes were dark pools of emotion.

  "You're doing it," he whispered.

  "We are doing it," she corrected.

  She moved her hand from his shoulder to the back of his neck. She played with the hair at his nape.

  He inhaled sharply. His hand on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him.

  They were clinging.

  The music swelled.

  She rested her forehead against his chin. She closed her eyes.

  This is it, she thought. This is the life she had always wanted. The life she saw in the vision. It was happening.

  "Wanda," he breathed.

  "Shh," she whispered. "Just dance, Baker."

  They swayed for what felt like hours.