Today was May 10th, one of Lim Sorin's twelve favorite days. On the tenth day of every month, she would fuel her passionate love for books by paying a visit to the local bookstore. The store was run by an elderly woman whose glasses would slowly slide down her low nose bridge and rest near the tip. She knew Sorin by name and would give her discounts if she was short on money. If her store did not have the book Sorin wanted, it would arrive in no later than three days.

The woman was more than just a bookstore owner; she had also been a literature teacher before she retired. She could usually tell what Sorin would want to read next according to the books she bought before. Sorin liked stories with plotlines that didn't remain stationary. She preferred an author who was detailed but not to the point where she would get a headache from a two page-long character introduction. She liked a plotline laced with revelations that made her contemplate her own life and world. Some of her favorites were the Harry Potter series, Stephen King's novels, The Book Thief, 1984, and To Kill a Mockingbird. 

Sometimes Sorin would write short stories in her spare time. Her first was written when she was thirteen, a deep story for someone that young. It was about the dysfunctional relationship between a mother and daughter, and their immense love for their dog was the only thing keeping them from succumbing to their financial, psychological, and familial issues. She had won an award for her work but thought nothing of it, simply writing to write and not to please anyone except herself.

As she walked through the door, bells rang to notify the old woman of her presence. The old woman turned around, wearing a warm smile as if she had been expecting Sorin to come. Sorin bowed as she greeted the old woman and then waltzed off to the new releases section. Her face remained expressionless, indicating that she had yet to find a book that intrigued her. 

She moved on to the other sections of the store, examining each book curiously, but each one was put back on the shelf. She returned to the new releases section in the front, pouting her lips quizically. The old woman crossed her arms as she leaned against the wall, pondering why Sorin hadn't found a book yet. It was very unlike her, and it greatly annoyed her. 

"Still nothing?" The woman asked.

Sorin shook her head. "It's so strange. Usually I end up having to decide between five or more books, but today, absolutely nothing. I've either read them all before or they don't interest me."

"I'm sorry about that, dear." The woman apologized sincerely.

"It's not your fault." She reassured her. "Besides, I'm still reading Les Misérables. I think it's the longest I've ever spent reading any book, ever. I'm barely halfway through."

"If you can't find anything at all, you can finish Les Misérables and maybe something new and interesting will be in stock next month."

"Okay." She nodded.

Sorin's eyebrows furrowed when she noticed a book with a plain, hard red cover. She lifted it from its place on the shelf and flipped through the first few pages. It was completely blank. There was no title, no publication info, no author name, no barcode, nothing. She proceeded to scan all of the pages, but they too were blank. Perhaps it was a journal or a diary, but it looked so much like a regular book on the outside and was even bound like one. 

"Oh," The woman remarked. "You're interested in that one?"

"Seems like I am." Sorin responded, maintaining her focus on the book in her hand.

"It just came in this morning, and it sure is a strange one. It doesn't look like a journal, does it? Yet, it can't be a normal book, either. There's no way to determine where or by who it was manufactured. Very strange indeed."

"I'll buy it, then." She declared, walking up to the register.

"No," The woman raised her hands in front of her to show refusal. "I can't take your money for this."

"Mrs. Chae, please," Sorin insisted, pushing her cash onto the counter. "If it's in your store, I'll buy it from you."

"No," Mrs. Chae repeated. "Just take it. It's okay."

"Are you sure?" Her eyes went wide.

Mrs. Chae nodded. "Yes."

"Alright. Thank you very much." Sorin bowed again and left.

After she ate dinner, Sorin sat on top of her bed, diligently reading through Les Misérables. She probably should have been studying for her psychology quiz, but she was too engrossed in the book to find any strength to put it down. She kept telling herself that she would close it after finishing the next chapter, but each ending drew her in further. Once, she did manage to close it, but she gave into her desire to continue reading and picked the book up again.

Finally, she managed to muster enough willpower to stop reading for the night, only because her curiosity was sparked by her new find, which was resting on her nightstand by a box of tissues. Taking the mysterious book in her hands, she stared at the cover wordlessly and memorized every detail regarding the texture of the cover. Slowly, she opened the book again, expecting all blank pages. This time, however, there was a single sentence printed on the first page.

You are the author of your own story.

She turned to the following page, and then the pages after that. Still, all were blank, except for the very first page. That sentence certainly had not been there when she encountered the book that afternoon, and surely nobody could write in italicized Times New Roman. With a sigh, she began to attempt to deconstruct the sentence in order to find its meaning.

You. A clear shout-out to the reader. A connection between the world of the book and the world of the reader.

Author. A title of authority, especially for those working in literature. The creator, the conductor, and the ruler of their story. 

Story. A narrative, obviously, and a representative of perspective, which was affected by the narrator's life. Life...

You are the author of your own story. The one reading this sentence has acknowledged that they have agency over their own life. Therefore, write it.

A sudden spark of creativity rushed through Sorin's veins. She grabbed her pen and turned the page, beginning to write furiously on the surface of the paper. She described her dreams and ambitions in long, detailed paragraphs, wanting to paint a clear picture of her idea of her future. She began with her short-term goals, such as passing that dreaded physics test on torque (which was the next day) and finding someone to teach her to play guitar until she felt confident enough to learn independently.

Before she could begin to write down her long-term goals, Sorin's eyes drooped and she drifted off to sleep.

The next day was a school day. Her heart thumped faster as physics came nearer with each tick of the clock. She desperately flipped through her notes, piercing the silence in the library. Even though she felt that there was absolutely no chance that she would even be able to write down an answer next period, she was grateful that she had a study hall right before she would walk into Science Hell. 

Sorin looked up from her papers and across the table at the round-faced, monolidded boy who was also ferociously scanning his physics notes. He sighed, closing his notebook in frustration and returning the textbook to the shelf. 

"I am so screwed." He muttered. "Do you understand this at all?"

"Nope." Sorin shook her head. "Physics just isn't my thing."

"Me neither." He agreed.

"Jimin, please." She rolled her eyes. "You're really smart, plus you actually want to go into something in the science field. You'll probably do better than I will."

Then, the bell rang, making them tense up.

Jimin threw his black backpack over his shoulder. "If I don't make it through this test, tell my parents I love them."

The test was like one big trippy sequence. Everything else around her seemed irrelevant. Sorin's only focus was the packet of paper in front of her, and she would stop at nothing to get through it all. She knew she couldn't afford to leave an question blank, so she completed each one to the best of her ability, even if it sounded like total nonsense to her. But she didn't stop writing, not until the bell rang.  She sighed, pushing herself up from her seat to hand in her test. As she walked back to grab her stuff, she passed Jimin, who sent her a look that translated to, "This was just... no."

In the hallway, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She whipped it out and unlocked it upon discovering that there was a new text message from a random number. When she pressed on the Messages app, her heart stoppped. 

It was Kim Seokjin.

Hey, it's Seokjin. I got your number from Jimin and I'm texting you because he mentioned that you want to learn to play guitar. I would be glad to teach you. Could we meet near the front entrance to talk about it?

Her heart skipped a beat. She absolutely adored Seokjin. He was handsome, kind, and mature. He was the calmest of Jimin's friends, with all of whom she had atended elementary and middle school. To Sorin, Seokjin was a refreshing divergence from the chaos of loud, hormone-addled teenagers and the stress of academics.

And just like everybody else in her eyes, Seokjin was a new book to open up and read.

But for some reason, all of this seemed a bit strange... Familiar, even.

After school, Sorin made her way to the designated meeting place and patiently waited for Seokjin. Her eyes scanned the swarm of people flooding out the doors to the buses and their parents' cars parked outside, observing expressions of neutrality and relief that the day was over. Finally, she spotted a tall, fresh-faced boy heading her way. He stopped in front of her, wearing a sweet smile. Sorin couldn't decide between meeting his eyes or shyly averting her gaze to her feet. In the end, she forced herself to maintain friendly eye contact to make her little crush less obvious.

"So..." She began, her voice a bit softer than usual. "Didn't know you could play."

Seokjin let out a small chuckle. "I've actually been playing for four years."

She nodded. "Impressive."

"Yeah." He pulled out his phone and opened up his calendar. "So, lessons... It looks like I'm free on Tuesdays or Fridays after five."

"Tuesdays usually work best for me." She replied.

"Great!" He clasped his hands together as his polite smile became an excited grin. "Can we start next week? I just dropped off my guitar at the shop for some tune-ups, so it'll take a few days for it to be ready."

"Of course, that's fine." She assured eagerly. "I can't wait."

"Ah, shoot. I have to go. Don't want to be late for track practice." Before he turned around, he paused, writing something down on a piece of paper. "Wait, one more thing. This is my address. Don't lose it!."

"Thanks." She waved as he left. "See you around."

That night, she decided once again to write in her mysterious blank book. Strangely, in the midst of flipping to what she thought would be the next clean page, she noticed that the pages on which she had written previously were blank again. She brought her eyes close to the surface of the paper, checking to see if her writing had been erased, but there was absolutely no trace of anything. The book appeared as it had when she bought the day before. So she took out a pen and continued on.

Man, I am so not feeling this week, and it's only Monday. Maybe tomorrow we'll watch a movie in one of my classes. Maybe it'll be a good Disney movie, like The Lion King or Mulan. Wait, that would never happen. Ugh, school, please have mercy on me. Make this a fairly easy and laid-back week. Please.

Tuesday morning began abruptly when Jimin texted her in all-caps, "YANG POSTED THE TEST GRADES ONLINE," complete with a skull emoji. Nervously, she checked the online gradebook and reluctantly clicked on "Physics." Slowly, she scrolled down, looking up ahead of her instead of at her phone's screen. 

84?! How in the world...?

She had passed.

As if things couldn't get any better, first period began with a screening of Mulan. Though they would eventually have to write a short analysis of the roles of women in ancient China, a set due date wouldn't be confirmed until the movie was finished. Then, a substitute teacher showed up to her calculus class, explaining that Mr. Woo had to undergo emergency back surgery and would not be in school for a few months. So for the first week of his absence, he had declared a study hall period for his students. Her other teachers had been kind enough to assign little to no homework, giving her plenty of time to finish Les Misérables and do other leisurely activities.

Still, it was all so weird. But Sorin set her doubts and suspicions aside. Throughout her life thus far, she had read hundreds of books, so it was only natural that she would be able to connect a plot point to a real-life event. Right?

Wrong.

It pierced the murky stillness of the darkness, faster than an arrow or a blade. It traveled down the streets, around the corners, and into the night sky. The sound of her scream was brief, but its echo seemed to resonate endlessly, perpetuating the horror of watching her friend get struck by a speeding car. She fell to her knees, holding her friend close with reddened, teary eyes as the car swerved away in an erratic, jagged path...

Sorin leapt out of bed upon hearing a distant shriek. Hurriedly, she woke up her parents and drove down the street, where a girl around her age was desperately clutching another girl, who was battered and bloody. Sorin paled but rushed immediately to their side.

"What happened?" She asked, eyes wide.

"M-my friend... Namjoo... Oh god! She was h-h-hit by a c-car! Just now! We were walking home from a p-party and it..." The girl began to sob hysterically, holding her head in her hands.

"I'll call for help." Sorin's father whipped out his phone and dialed the emergency number.

"What's your name?" Sorin asked the girl.

"H-Hayoung... Oh Hayoung." She shakily answered.

"Okay. Hayoung, my dad is getting help right now." Sorin placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly. "Just stay put and make sure Namjoo stays awake and breathing."

Within a few minutes, an ambulance and several police cars arrived at the scene. Namjoo's eyes were fluttering closed, her bloodied fingertips tangling themselves in her long hair. Carefully, the paramedics lifted her off of Hayoung and onto a stretcher. Hayoung continued to kneel and cry as she watched the ambulance drive away to the hospital.

At this moment, Sorin held back a huge gasp of realization. Her déjà-vu moments were more than mere connections between literature and her life. She was actually experiencing everything that she had written down in her new book: the passing of her physics test, the guitar lessons, the easy week at school, and now the hit-and-run. She thought she was going crazy, but it felt as if she had absolute agency over her the path of her life. Actually, it seemed as if she could control the entirety of reality, with only the book and a writing utensil.

She was writing her own story.