The moon decided it was tired of glowing and applied for a desk job at the local library. In a shimmer of stardust, it became Mona, a pale, willowy woman with luminous eyes, her new human form draped in an oversized sweater that swallowed her unfamiliar frame. Pebbleton Library, a creaky jumble of wobbly shelves and flickering fluorescents, felt like the perfect hideout from cosmic duties. The place thrummed with chaos—patrons bickering over tattered paperbacks, books teetering like they had their own agenda.

Mona shuffled to the front desk, clutching a fictitious resumé that sparkled faintly at the edges, her earthly body still a mystery. Theo, the library assistant, glanced up from a stack of overdue notices, his late-20s charm leaking through a coffee-stained shirt and crooked grin. “You must be Monica, the new temp,” he said, tossing a wink that made her unearthly heart skip. Mona blinked, too intrigued by this warm, human creature to correct the mix-up.

She had watched humanity for millennia—distant, detached, orbiting their lives like a ghost with no gravity of her own. But something in her, something quiet and aching, had finally said: I want in.

Theo handed her a pile of romance novels, their covers flaunting shirtless rogues and swooning heroines. “Shelve these in the back, please,” he asked, voice teasing. As Mona’s fingers brushed the books, they hummed, whispering suggestive lines—”Oh, my heart, take me now!”—and her skin flushed with a faint, glowing warmth. Theo raised an eyebrow, captivated by the shimmer but chalked it up to odd charm.

Across the room, old Mr. Phipps, a regular, scolded a cookbook that kept snapping shut on his fingers. “Give me that pie recipe, you stubborn thing!” he huffed. The library pulsed with absurdity, lights flickering like a disco ball. Mona tingled—not just from the chaos but from Theo’s lingering gaze, his cedarwood scent stirring something new in her core. She fumbled a novel, and Theo caught it, their fingers brushing, sending a starlike spark through her. This human thing, she thought, was already more thrilling—and confusing—than any orbit in the sky.

She trailed Theo through the library’s maze of creaking shelves, her oversized sweater snagging on a bookcase that seemed to dodge her. The romance novels in her arms whispered—”His touch ignited her soul”—stirring strange warmth in her borrowed flesh. Theo, tossing a lopsided grin over his shoulder, called her “Monica” again. “You’re catching on, new girl,” he teased, his gravelly voice sending a ripple through her senses. She didn’t correct him.

“Scan these returns,” Theo said, handing her a barcode scanner. His calloused fingers grazed hers, and Mona’s skin tingled with an electric heat she couldn’t name. Her pulse raced and her cheeks glowed, casting a shimmer on the counter. Theo’s scent—cologne and roasted coffee—flooded her senses. “Got a spark about you,” he chuckled, mistaking her glow for a quirk. Mona stared at his stubbled jaw, the way it caught the light, and felt her new form ache with curiosity.

The library spiraled into chaos. Miss Clara, a wiry patron, clutched a poetry book that purred sonnets in a sultry voice, fanning her flushed face. “This place is bewitched!” she yelped as a shelf wobbled, dumping detective novels. Lights flickered wildly, and Mona sensed her presence was the culprit. She hadn’t meant to turn the library into a carnival, but Theo’s grin widened. “We thrive on madness,” he said, nudging her shoulder with a playful smirk. The contact sent a starburst of warmth through her body, her breath catching as she inhaled his scent, craving more.

Their next task was sorting a cart of misfiled books in a dusty storage closet. Theo squeezed past, his chest brushing her arm, and Mona quivered, her skin glowing brighter in the dim space. The air thickened, charged with their nearness. “Careful, Monica,” Theo murmured, his breath warm at her ear, “or we’ll be trapped here till dawn.” Her heart pounded, alive with sensation—his warmth, the faint roughness of his shirt, the way his smile made her insides flutter. She didn’t know what to do with these feelings, but she wanted to explore them.

Then chaos erupted. A woman stormed in, voice slicing through the hum. “Who’s this fraud?” she demanded, flashing a name tag: Monica. The real Monica had arrived, her glare fixed on Mona. A nearby bookcase rattled, spitting out a romance novel open to a steamy passage—”I’m yours, my darling!”—and patrons gasped, one giggling nervously. The lights pulsed faster. Mona’s glow intensified, betraying her celestial nature. She glanced at Theo, terrified he’d see through her, but he leaned closer, unfazed, eyes glinting with mischief. “This place is a circus today,” he said, voice low, almost intimate. “You in for the ride?”

Mona’s mind reeled. She should confess—she wasn’t Monica, she was the moon, in a new, unfamiliar body meddling in human chaos. But Theo’s gaze made her want to stay, to chase the pulsing sensations he sparked. Her fingers brushed his arm, sending another wave of warmth through her. Her new form craved his nearness, his scent, his touch. Monica’s fury faded against the pull of Theo’s presence. This wasn’t about romance novels or cosmic rebellion. It was about touch. Proximity. The press of skin against skin. She had lit the world for eons but never once felt the heat it cast back. Until now.

Whatever this human thing was, Mona wanted to dive deeper.

Ignoring Monica, Mona followed Theo up the spiral staircase, her new body trembling with anticipation. The attic was a dusty haven of forgotten books, their pages glowing under her touch, whispering steamy lines—”His desire consumed her.” Theo’s crooked grin, flickering under a bare bulb, set her heart pounding. “Let’s tackle these strays,” he said, his voice low, eyes tracing her luminous skin. Her body buzzed with a warm ache, senses flooded by the heat radiating from his rumpled shirt.

They stood close, sorting novels, their hands brushing as they reached for the same book. Each touch sent sparks through her skin. Theo’s gaze softened, teasing edge giving way to hunger. “You’re glowing, Monica,” he murmured, stepping so close his breath grazed her cheek. Her knees quaked. She leaned in, tentative, and their lips met—soft, then ravenous, his tongue teasing hers, sending a jolt of awe through her. This kissing, she realized, overwhelmed her with its heat, the faint taste of coffee on his lips sparking excitement. It was not just stimulation—it was intimacy, messy and unfiltered.

Theo’s hands slid under her sweater, tracing her waist, then higher, cupping her breasts. Mona gasped, her full, sensitive nipples hardening under his touch, a sensation that sent comets of pleasure racing through her. She arched into him, her body alive with excitement. “You’re something else,” Theo whispered, his thumbs brushing her nipples, drawing a moan as her skin glowed brighter. Her hands fumbled to his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, her heart pounding with wonder. So this is what it means to be wanted.

He tugged her sweater off, revealing her glowing skin, and knelt to kiss her collarbone, his hands undoing her jeans with care. Mona’s breath hitched as he slid them down, his fingers grazing her ass, kneading the soft flesh. The sensation was electric. Her body trembled. Theo’s hands moved to her inner thighs, brushing the soft hairs of her pussy, and Mona’s legs quaked, overwhelmed by the tickling warmth. His fingers parted her virgin lips, and she gasped—the sensation so new it felt like stars colliding in her core. “Theo,” she whispered, awed. Not even starlight had ever touched her like this.