The school library wasn't a place people went to think.
They went to nap. To pretend to study. To scroll through their phones in peace or hide from social pressure. But for Alex Dunphy, it was sacred ground.
It was the only place on campus where her mind could stretch without judgment — where the weight of her own expectations felt lighter, quieted by the hum of fluorescent lights and rows of knowledge.
She came here most afternoons to read ahead or decompress.
But today, she wasn't looking for books.
She was looking for him.
Elliot hadn't shown up to AP Philosophy. No call, no text, no explanation. Not that she had his number — though she'd considered asking.
Still, it bothered her. More than it should have. He didn't strike her as the kind of person to skip class for no reason. He didn't care about grades, not really, but he cared about ideas. And that made him predictable.
Until now.
Her boots clicked softly along the linoleum floor as she scanned each aisle, telling herself it wasn't stalking if it involved philosophy.
Then she saw him.
Tucked in the farthest corner, in the oversized leather chair no one ever used because the light didn't hit it right. A stack of books sat beside him like a fortress.
He was reading Being and Time.
She blinked.
Seriously?
"Okay," she muttered under her breath, stepping closer. "Now you're just showing off."
He looked up before she spoke. As if he sensed her presence.
"Alex."
Her name, spoken like a statement — not a greeting.
"You missed class," she said, folding her arms.
"I was here," Elliot replied, closing the book gently. "This felt more… pressing."
She gave him a pointed look. "More pressing than Camus?"
"Camus can wait. Heidegger's on borrowed time."
She resisted a smile. "Cute."
He tilted his head, amused. "Not my intention."
She walked over and eyed the books stacked beside him: Kierkegaard, Derrida, Arendt, Simone Weil. A reading list not even their teacher would dare hand out.
"You really don't do things halfway, do you?"
Elliot leaned back, hands folded on his lap. "What would be the point?"
"To enjoy your youth? To do what normal seventeen-year-olds do?"
"I've done youth," he said simply. "I'm interested in truth."
Alex sat down in the chair across from him, ignoring the way her heart beat faster. She couldn't tell if it was irritation or… something else.
"So?" she asked. "What truth are you chasing today?"
He was quiet a moment. Then:
"Heidegger says we live inauthentically until we confront our own death. That facing mortality wakes us up. Brings us to a more authentic self."
"And you believe that?"
"I lived it."
There it was again — that tone. The certainty of someone who had looked beyond something most people never dared to face.
"You really talk like you've died before," she said.
"I have."
She stared at him.
Elliot didn't flinch.
Alex leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Are you messing with me?"
"No."
"Then prove it."
There was no smirk, no clever retort. Just that calm, unwavering gaze.
"How do you prove a past life to someone who's still trapped in their first?"
Alex swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of the ground beneath her feet.
This wasn't a game anymore.
"Alright," she said finally. "Then don't prove it. Just answer one thing."
He waited.
"If you've really lived before… why come back as a teenager? Why this? Why now?"
Elliot looked down, fingers grazing the book's spine.
"Because I didn't finish something," he said quietly. "Because the questions never stopped. And because this time, I think the answer might not come from the books."
She stared at him, breath caught.
It was the first time he'd spoken with a hint of vulnerability. A crack in the armor. Just enough for her to see the weight beneath his detachment.
"What are you hoping to find?" she asked.
His eyes met hers.
"Something real."
They sat there in silence, the kind that didn't beg to be filled.
Eventually, she stood, suddenly feeling too exposed.
"You're lucky I'm into this stuff," she said, brushing imaginary lint from her sweater. "Most people would think you're completely insane."
"I'm aware."
"And if you are crazy, I'm not saying I don't want to know more."
Elliot smiled softly. "Curiosity's a dangerous thing, Alex."
"So is detachment."
He looked impressed. "Touché."
She turned, walking away before she could say something stupid. But just before she turned the corner, she glanced back.
He was watching her.
Still, silent, thoughtful.
As if she had become the variable.
That night, Alex found herself unable to focus on her usual schedule. Homework felt irrelevant. Her mind kept returning to the strange look in his eyes when he said: "This time, I think the answer might not come from the books."
And the way he'd said "something real" like it was something he'd never known.
Like she might be it.
She opened her laptop, created a new file, and typed just a few words:
Elliot Carter – Case Study: The Philosopher Who Might Have Died Before He Was Born.
Then she backspaced the entire sentence.
Because somehow, she already knew this wasn't just academic anymore.
Meanwhile, in his room, Elliot opened his notebook.
Entry: Day 14
She challenged me again. Not with logic — with feeling. That's more dangerous.
Most people hide their desire to be understood. She dares me to understand her.
Maybe… that's what makes her real.
He paused.
Then, at the bottom of the page, scribbled in smaller script:
"Truth isn't found in solitude. It's revealed in proximity."
He stared at that line for a long time before closing the book.