The rain fell in a relentless downpour, hammering the pavement with icy precision. Don Walker hunched his shoulders against the cold, clutching his tattered backpack as he made his way down the dimly lit street. The world seemed determined to remind him of his insignificance—a fitting reflection of his life.
Another day of awkward silence in class, another evening of muted laughter from his housemates who never seemed to notice his existence. Don had long accepted that loneliness was his companion. He barely remembered what it felt like to have a real friend.
Tonight, however, felt different.
It started with the bookstore. It was one of those places you didn't notice until you stumbled upon it—a narrow shop wedged between two towering buildings. The flickering neon sign above the door simply read: Curiosities.
Don hesitated. He'd never seen this store before, despite walking this route almost every day. The rain was picking up, and the warm glow from inside was inviting. He pushed the door open, a soft chime announcing his arrival.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and something faintly metallic. Shelves stretched toward the ceiling, crammed with books, trinkets, and objects that seemed to defy categorization.
"Looking for something specific?"
The voice startled him. Behind the counter sat a man, pale and thin, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to see straight through him. Don shook his head.
"Just browsing," he mumbled, avoiding eye contact.
The man smiled, but there was something unsettling about it—too wide, too knowing. "Take your time. Sometimes, the right item finds you."
Don wandered the aisles, drawn to a section at the back. A single book lay on a pedestal, its cover plain black, unmarked except for the faint impression of a name: Adrian.
"Strange choice," the shopkeeper's voice came from behind him, making Don jump. "That one's... peculiar."
Don frowned. "Peculiar how?"
The man tilted his head, his smile unwavering. "Let's just say it's better suited for someone... special."
Before Don could respond, the shopkeeper turned and walked away. Against his better judgment, Don picked up the book. It was heavier than it looked, and the pages felt cold under his fingers.
Without realizing why, he knew he had to take it.
When he turned back toward the counter, the shopkeeper was gone. In his place was a note: Consider it a gift.