You were settled comfortably on the plush couch in your cozy bookshop, immersively lost in the pages of your favorite author's newest release: Arche W. The way he wove words into masterful sentences and shaped plots with a finesse that only true artisans of literature could achieve deserved far more recognition.

But then, a sudden sound pierced through the comfortable silence. The shop door creaked open lazily, and a gust of chilly air entered the store, making a few loose papers flutter gently.

A man entered, his slender form shivering slightly against the cold. He wiped his glasses, clearing the fog that clung to them, and his gaze fell onto the book in your hands. A hint of surprise flickered across his face as he recognized the pen name inscribed on the cover. A small, rare smile graced his lips, a stark contrast to the exhaustion that seemed to cling to him.

"Pardon the intrusion," he said, his voice betraying the long day he had clearly had, "but it's awfully cold out there. May I stay for a moment?"