Kevin's life was a loop: wake, work, sleep, repeat.
It wasn't bad—just numbing. The routine offered comfort, but there lurked a quiet despair beneath its surface.
Kevin had no remarkable traits—except for one thing: an uncanny drive that made him finish whatever he started.
He longed for change. He just didn't know what or how.
His instincts screamed at him: "You're meant for more! But comfort is a velvet cage."
But even the dullest lives have turning points.
That afternoon, Kevin passed a small roadside stall he'd ignored a hundred of times before.
A near-empty stand, just a few rusty trinkets and old sculptures scattered about.
However, today, something caught his eye.
The vendor, hunched and ancient, carved away at a block of wood. His movements were slow, but practiced—as if he had done it thousands of times—as if time no longer held importance.
His fading clothes and long, white beard made him seem like he had been pulled from an ancient, unknown era.
He radiated the feeling of someone forgotten by the world—yet content with it.
Kevin watched the man. Entranced.
Time seemed to slow and the world blurred with every carved stroke.
After a long pause, the old man finally looked up, meeting Kevin's gaze with calm, steady eyes.
No wisdom. No weight of memories. Just the look of a man who even time seemed to have forgotten.
He seemed like he'd seen the world, and seen enough to not care anymore.
"Not many stop to look," he said. "You seem... lost."
Kevin blinked.
"What do you mean?"
The old man glanced at the carving, then back at Kevin. "Most people don't see what's right in front of them. They're always rushing, always looking ahead. They don't stop to look at the things that have been here all along."
Unease washed over Kevin—like he was intruding on something. He wasn't sure why.
There was a part of him that wanted to move along, to just... leave the stall, but curiosity held him still.
The old man, seemingly unbothered by the silence, smiled knowingly and reached down to pick up a worn, leather-bound book. Its cover was cracked and faded, and the pages yellowed under the scrutiny of time.
It looked ordinary—but felt special, its aged pages heavy with their knowledge, its words almost whispering to the reader.
Without a word, the old man slid it across the table toward him. "Sometimes we find what we're looking for in the most unassuming of places."
Kevin hesitated. It was all too sudden, too strange, but a sense of importance made him reach forward and pick it up.
His fingers hovered over the cover. For a moment, reality sharpened—he knew this mattered.
It wasn't heavy. But the weight of it felt right. Like it was always meant to be his.
"Someone like you would know how to make use of this..." the old man whispered, his voice softening.
Kevin looked up, but the man was already carving again, like nothing had happened.
He stood for a moment, book in hand, wanting to ask questions, but something compelled him to not disturb the man anymore.
Then, he slipped the book into his bag and walked away. Dazed and confused. Haunted by a feeling that he couldn't place.
The book felt alive in his bag—waiting patiently to be read. Silent. Hungry.
Kevin's thoughts swirled as he walked back to his apartment, his fingers absently brushing against the leather-bound book, as if drawn to it.
It was strange, the way it seemed to call to him, but his thoughts were too scattered to make sense of it.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, and by the time he lay down on his bed, his mind was still racing.
Something had changed, he could feel it.
But what? What had the old vendor meant? What was he supposed to do with the book?
Without thinking, he reached for the book. Its weight still felt right. Its pages still whispered.
As he opened the book, a sharp pain shot through him, disappearing just as quickly as it appeared.
A sharp sting—a paper cut. Blood seeped into the pages of the book.
He stood to apply a bandage—the book could wait, just for one more night.
Bandaged and tired, he collapsed onto his bed—sleep taking hold over him...