A middle-aged man named Jonathan Heinrich walked toward the bus station, tugging his coat closer as the soft morning light brushed against him. He chose his usual window seat and watched the city wake up as the bus began to move. For a moment, a faint smile crossed his lips.
I'm finally doing it…
The thought lingered as his eyes caught sight of a small, aging library along the road. Its faded sign and narrow windows stirred something deep in his chest. He wondered, not for the first time, if his years of saving—every coin of his twenties spent working for others—would be enough to buy it.
The old man who owned the place had hinted that he might close it down. His son was already living comfortably and had no interest in inheriting the library.
A quiet urgency settled over Jonathan. This place had been calling to him for years, though the owner had never known it.
Despite their acquaintance, their conversations had never gone beyond polite exchanges. Still, Jonathan often thought that if he were the old man's son, he would treasure the library with all his heart.
But he wasn't.
He had no parents, no close friends, and no family to guide him. Books had been his companions, his teachers, and the only source of comfort in a lonely childhood.
All the more reason to live life my own way, he told himself. I must buy that library—no matter what.
The bus slowed to a stop. Jonathan stepped off, letting the cool, fresh air wash over him, and made his way into the company building. He greeted his coworkers with the practiced politeness of someone long used to being overlooked.
He smiled each time someone passed by.
"Good morning…"
At his desk, he filed reports, answered emails, and prepared his formal resignation letter. As always, his work was precise and methodical.
By noon, the company held a farewell lunch. The director had insisted on it, claiming everyone should give Jonathan a proper send-off for all the help he had provided during his time there. Glasses were raised, hands clapped, and cheerful words echoed around the room.
"We hope you find your true self, Jonathan!" they shouted.
Privately, the director leaned closer, beer glass in hand. "Well… you do have kindness. I hope that helps you in your venture, tch."
Jonathan smiled politely, though he felt the hollow edge beneath the words. It wasn't the first time this insincere, self-important man had spoken that way. The director's cold, calculating gaze made it painfully obvious.
After the lunch ended, Jonathan made his way to the old, run-down library.
Once inside, he inhaled the familiar scent of aging paper and dust. The quiet wrapped around him like a blanket, and he felt completely at home among the shelves. He settled into his usual spot by the window, where sunlight spilled across the floor and warmed the room.
As he sat there reading, his posture carried a calm, dignified air—almost noble—though softened by time and age. His emerald-green eyes caught the light, and his dark hair shimmered faintly, hinting at a quiet vitality beneath his middle-aged appearance.
Hours slipped by as he immersed himself in volumes he had read countless times. Yet each page still felt alive, as if every story were a new chapter in his frugal, carefully lived life.
At last, Jonathan closed the book and approached the old man behind the counter, his heart pounding just a little.
"Sir," he said carefully, "may I… buy this library this Friday? I saw the sign outside."
The old man's eyes softened. A faint smile crossed his lips as he placed a hand gently on Jonathan's shoulder.
"Of course, young man. You really love books, don't you? You're the only one who comes here every day. I hope you'll take care of it—it's been my life's work."
His smile faded slightly, a shadow of loneliness passing through his gaze as he withdrew his hand.
"It's strange… that only a stranger cares for something I've cherished all my life."
Jonathan nodded and bowed awkwardly.
"I-I'll come back this Friday. Thank you… sir."
Stepping outside, he felt the familiar rhythm of the city surround him like music. The fresh air brushed against his wrinkled face as he walked toward the bus stop. Once aboard, he took his usual window seat, watching the world pass by as he reflected on the dream he had worked toward for so many years.
I hope… living this way will make me feel truly fulfilled, he thought. Books… they really are my only family.
At home, he prepared a modest dinner—a simple omelette—then read another book before lying down to sleep. His thoughts lingered on the library, its shelves, and the countless stories waiting for him.
Tomorrow would be just another ordinary day.
But for Jonathan Heinrich, it felt like the final step toward a dream he had spent a lifetime chasing—a quiet promise of new beginnings and the life he had always wanted…
…or so he thought.