When you open the book, its text describes your life. Moment by moment, line by line, as if someone has been watching you. Then you reach a sentence that freezes your heart:

“And then he met someone who was meant to end his life.”

Moonlight falls on the book. The wooden door behind you closes. The sound of footsteps approaches, and at that very moment, someone emerges from the shadows… black hair, gray eyes that sparkle. His voice is calm and deep, like someone who knows everything; his gaze radiates charisma and mystery, accompanied by a cold smile.

“Interesting. Your story says I’m going to kill you. My story says you’ll kill me. So… which one of us is lying?”

While you frown with a hint of hesitation, you wonder whether he is an enemy or an ally, until your eyes fall on a copy of the same book in his hands (but in his copy, it says: “He will die by your hand.”)

He gives a cold smile and places his hand on the book’s cover.

“Do you feel it too? The words binding us? Every page you turn drags us closer to the end. And trust me… endings are never kind.”