The bell above the door chimed as Sarah locked up her small bookstore for the night. She sighed, thinking about another day of dwindling sales. As she turned to leave, a soft knock made her jump.

[p]

An elderly man stood outside, his weathered face peering through the glass. Against her better judgment, Sarah reopened the door.

[p]

"I'm sorry, we're closed," she said gently.

[p]

"Please," he whispered, "I've come a long way. I'm looking for a very specific book."

[p]

Something in his eyes made Sarah pause. "Come in, then. What's the title?"

[p]

The old man shuffled inside, his gaze roaming the shelves. "It doesn't have a title. It's handwritten, bound in green leather."

[p]

Sarah frowned. "I don't think we have anything like that."

[p]

He smiled mysteriously. "Oh, but you do. It was placed here long ago, waiting."

[p]

As if in a trance, Sarah found herself walking to the back of the store. Her hand reached out, pulling a small, dusty volume from behind some newer releases. The cover was soft, green leather.

[p]

The old man's eyes lit up. "At last," he murmured, taking the book reverently.

[p]

As he opened it, a brilliant light filled the shop.

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