A young man borrows the same book for exactly one day every week.

  Siemialisz, Rystokia

  26 Sithbruni 1968, 11 PM (CUT -1)

  Urban Gruszczyński had worked at the Narcyz Kuban Memorial Library for the past seventeen years of his life, long enough to recognise the habits of the regur patrons.

  He knew which students from the university would rush in before exams, which pensioners would spend their afternoons over a newspaper and who would prefer to take it home with them. He noticed the middle-aged woman who borrowed the same romance novels in rotation, the factory worker who always requested history books on medieval sieges, and the grandmother who read fairy tales to her grandson every Ektosdag* afternoon.

  But none of them puzzled Urban quite like the young man who, without fail, checked out the same book once a day every week. The book was named Struktura Doskona?ego Umys?u, a thick tome that was neither a particurly famous nor practical book—too outdated for academia, too convoluted for casual readers, and far too esoteric for the average person. It was on obismency**, or at least, the 16th century techniques of mnemonic and mental discipline that most definitely would not hold up to modern psychiatrists and cognitive scientists.

  As much as his love for books, Urban had only ever skimmed the text once or twice for its serpentine handwriting and interesting diagrams but could not fully appreciate its depth. It was the kind of book that would gather dust on the shelf if not for the consistent weekly ritual of this young man.

  The young man in question was a pale and somewhat unkempt figure. His dark hair fell over his forehead in wild waves, and was always seen with his battered watch, and in uniform, which—judging by its muted blue colours and patch—came from Saint Tytus' College, a private school located just north of the river. Telgaran Ceginskas was his name according to the library card he presented.

  His routine was always the same: Protadag*** morning, arrive. Checkout the book at around 11 o’clock, leave. Morning next day 11 o’clock, arrive. Return book, leave. Repeat.

  It had started a few months ago right before the Yule holidays and at first, Urban had assumed he was simply a student doing some research for some school project. Even as the weeks turned progressed, Urban had thought little of it—people had their oddities, after all.

  But as the months passed, Urban began to grow curious at the young man's actions.

  And thus, on this day, driven by his curiosity, Urban decided to break his usual routine.

  “The usual?” Urban decided to ask as the young man slid the book across the counter along with his library card. His eyes were fixed on the worn cover.

  The young man was clearly surprised at Urban's question. He blinked and gnced up.

  “Yes.” His voice was curiously soft, as though his mind was somewhere else entirely.

  Urban unclicked a pen and opened the book's cover, jotting down the name and date on the borrowing slip.

  “You come in every week for this book.” Urban stated, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you borrow anything else.” He left the sentence hanging in the air, waiting to see if the young man would respond, but he only fidgeted with his watch, focused on the counter.

  Urban wrote the same thing on the library ledger and snapped both of them shut before sliding the book and library card back towards the young man.

  “May I ask—if it doesn't terribly bother you—if there's something specific, you’re looking for in this book?”

  The young man's fingers paused over the edges of the book and his eyes flickered up at Urban.

  “It... helps me,” he muttered. It was an apologetic sort of mutter, as if he was embarrassed by the admission. “It helps me remember things.”

  Urban blinked, of all the expnations he’d expected, that hadn’t been one of them. Not that he had really expected any reasonable expnation to such a peculiar behaviour.

  But before he could respond, the young man had mumbled a quick “Thank you,” and, with a brief flick of his wrist, snatched the book and card and moved quickly towards the exit.

  Remember things? What could be so difficult about remembering that required such a strange ritual?

  Despite the interaction, the young man's schedule did not deviate in the following weeks. He did not comment on the exchange, nor respond to any other remarks Urban made. He simply came in every week, checked out the book, and returned it the next day.

  Urban had spent the st few weeks thinking about the young man’s words, “It helps me remember things.” But that didn’t make sense. There were much more modern books on mind magic, far easier to understand and apply. It also didn't expin why he needed to borrow it for exactly one day every week.

  The curiosity had become an itch he couldn’t ignore.

  And so, on the fourth Protadag following their exchange, as Urban scribbled the name and date on the borrowing slip and ledger once again, he asked, “If you don’t mind me asking Mister Ceginskas, how does the book help you remember things?”

  The young man was once again startled at being addressed, but he recovered quickly and offered a half-smile before lowering his gaze at the book as Urban slid it back towards him. Urban expected him to make his excuse and hurry away as he did the first time Urban had asked, but instead, the young man spoke in his quiet voice.

  “Well, at some point, this book became linked to a memory of mine--my grandfather had a copy of this book from before the war you see. It helps remind me I have to do something the next day every week...” the young man trailed off. “It’s called associative memory I think.”

  If Urban had been a less observant man, he might have missed the slight tremor in the young man’s hand, and how he stopped fidgeting with his watch the moment the words "before the war" passed his lips. The young man was hiding something, yet, it was not Urban's pce to pry. Everyone had their secrets.

  So instead, Urban nodded. “That is understandable.”

  The boy defted microscopically.

  “Well, I hope it serves you well than. Now, I apologise for holding you up, forgive an old man's curiosity." Urban offered a polite smile.

  The young man seemed to debate with himself on whether to say something more. Then, with a curt nod, he murmured another quiet "Thank you" and left, the book tucked under his arm.

  As much as Urban told himself that the matter was settled, the young man's behaviour when he had expined it certainly had not reassured him.

  It is quite certainly none of your business, he chided himself. The young man's habit was not affecting any of the library's functions, and if he wanted to go on borrowing that strange, old book every week, it was hardly Urban's concern.

  The young man returned the book on the next day as usual, but he never returned the following week.

  Notes:* - The seventh day of the week.** - The branch of magic concerning the shielding of the mind from foreign attacks.*** - The second day of the week.