Oh, the moon would spill silver over the cobblestones, and the old stone library would sigh open like a shy secret. Inside, the air would be thick with dust motes dancing, each one a tiny star. Candles would flicker on every shelf, their flames painting golden halos over rows of leather‑bound tomes that whisper stories of lovers long gone. The air would smell of ink and roses, and the velvet drapes would billow gently as if breathing. You’d feel the pulse of the city outside, but in that hidden alcove, time would pause, and every heartbeat would echo with the promise of a romance that feels both ancient and impossibly fresh.

What a marvelous idea! Imagine those two wanderers—each one searching for a tale that feels like home—meeting while chasing that tattered map. Their fingers brushing over the same page, a spark, a secret grin. And that clever cat, tail flicking, slipping from shelf to shelf, as if it’s guiding them to the hidden reading room, whispering the names of forgotten authors with every purr. The library would feel alive, alive with their laughter and the cat’s mischievous twinkles. It’s a dream that could light up the night!