Every Wednesday, Nermin arrived at the library ten minutes early. He was sixty-four, with neatly trimmed gray hair and a habit of returning books with a slip of paper marking his favorite page. Jasna, the librarian, was nine years younger. She kept the slips in a drawer she did not open in front of her colleagues.

Since they had both lost their partners, their conversations about novels had grown longer. Once, he invited her for coffee. She said she would like that, but she was busy that week. Nermin did not ask again. Afterward, Jasna often regretted not immediately suggesting another day.

At a literary evening, the organizer joked that Nermin probably read only because he liked the librarian. Several people laughed. He blushed but did not lower his eyes. Jasna felt her hand tighten around the program. The organizer added that some romances had an expiration date.

"With books, I know you can renew the loan," Nermin replied. "With people, you first have to ask whether they want to stay." He did not seek applause. He turned to the author onstage and asked a question about her novel. The laughter died because nobody could continue the joke without being openly unkind.

After the program, Jasna found him stacking chairs. She said she was sorry. He shrugged, but she could see it had hurt him. He explained that falling in love was not embarrassing; listening to other people turn it into a spectacle was. "And you must be allowed to say no without their audience, too."

Then she told him her answer about coffee had been clumsy, not negative. She suggested Saturday. Nermin took out his phone, although he knew he had no commitments. "Eleven?" She asked whether they could make it earlier, while the bakery still had warm rolls. He entered ten o'clock under "Jasna, coffee."

On Saturday, they talked about their late partners, but also about a bad film they had both seen. Neither expected the other to replace anyone. When the waiter brought the bill, Jasna asked to split it. Nermin said that, in that case, he would choose the cake next time. She smiled and agreed to a next time.

At the next literary evening, they sat by the window. The organizer apologized before the guests arrived. Jasna accepted the apology, then moved her bag from the neighboring chair. Nermin sat down, handed her a book and showed her the slip between its pages. This time, it held no quotation, but the address of a small bakery he wanted them to find together.