The old library at the far end of the east wing became our hiding place.
Elena started arranging the meetings a few days after our conversation in the garden. She left short, careful notes inside the books she secretly delivered to my room: “Library. 3 PM. Back corner.” I always went when the halls were quietest, heart pounding with both fear and excitement.
The library was dusty and rarely used — perfect for two girls who weren’t supposed to be friends. Tall shelves created natural hiding spots, and the thick curtains blocked most of the light, making everything feel safe and hidden.
The first real meeting happened on a cloudy afternoon.
I arrived first and waited behind the third shelf from the back. A few minutes later, Elena slipped in carrying a small basket covered with a cloth.
