Saturday started off productive enough. I finished all my homework in the morning, but once that was out of the way, the rest of the day dragged on. With nothing else to do, I spent hours scrolling through my phone, watching random videos, and pacing around my tiny apartment. It was one of those days where time seemed to crawl, and no matter what I did, I couldn't shake the sense of boredom. By the time the sun set, I hadn't accomplished anything meaningful, and the weight of that boredom carried over into Sunday.

Sunday arrived, and this time, I woke up with a different mindset. Today would be productive. I had to find work—there was no other option.

I had a quick breakfast, put on my shoes, and stepped out into the early morning streets. The air was crisp, and the city was still waking up. I liked this time of day; it felt like anything was possible before the usual chaos of the city set in.

My first stop was a local café, but they were fully staffed. I tried a bookstore, a convenience store, and even a small bakery—all of them turned me down. After hours of walking and filling out applications, I felt like I'd been rejected a hundred times. By mid-afternoon, my enthusiasm had all but disappeared. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stuck in a loop—no experience, no job; no job, no experience.

As I turned the corner towards my apartment, there it was again The bookstore. Yesterday, I had barely glanced at it, but today, something made me stop and stare. There was something different about it like the building itself was calling out to me. I wasn't sure why, but I couldn't help myself. I walked through the doors and into the warm, quiet space.

The store smelled like old paper and wood like it had absorbed the stories of every book on its shelves. I wandered aimlessly, running my fingers over the spines of books that seemed to come from another time. Each one looked unique, and many of the titles I'd never even heard of before.

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And then, I saw it. A book tucked away on the farthest shelf, almost hidden behind others. "When a Dream Comes True." The cover was dark, its leather slightly worn, but the book had a strange kind of beauty to it. I picked it up, feeling its weight in my hands. The pages were smooth, the ink rich and dark as if the words had been written yesterday. But something about it felt ancient like it had been waiting for someone to find it.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I took the book to the counter. The cashier, an elderly man with sharp eyes and a kind smile, looked at the book and raised an eyebrow.

"How much for this?" I asked.

He paused, as though measuring his words carefully. "Its price is cheap, but compared to its value…" He smiled, leaning in slightly. "It's dirt cheap."

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, I wasn't sure what he meant. But I shrugged it off, handed him the money, and left the store with a strange sense of excitement. It's just a book, I told myself, but somehow it felt like more than that.

Back at home, I settled into my chair, eager to dive into the story. As soon as I opened the book, I was transported to a world I had never dreamed of. The story was about an ancient war, fought between kingdoms and dragons, each side seeking to control the other. The dragons weren't mindless beasts—they were powerful, intelligent creatures, with their own secretive motives. The kingdoms sought their strength, but the balance between them was fragile, threatening to tear the world apart.

I read for hours, completely immersed in the tale. The sun had long since set, and the only light in my room came from the small lamp beside me. But then, as I turned the page, something strange happened. My eyelids grew heavy, much heavier than normal. I blinked, trying to focus on the words, but they blurred together on the page.

I don't remember the exact moment I fell asleep. One minute I was reading about the dragons, and the next, darkness overtook me. I slipped into sleep without knowing how, still clutching the book in my hands.