In a quiet town where clocks ticked louder than conversations, lived a boy named Arin. The town had a strange habit: people feared tomorrow more than they remembered yesterday. Everyone rushed, worried, planned, and panicked—except Arin.
Arin was different. He believed tomorrow was something you could talk to, maybe even borrow from, if you listened carefully enough.
One evening, while returning from the old library at the edge of town, Arin noticed a shop that had never been there before. Its signboard read:
"Tomorrow's Shop — Open Only at Dusk."
The windows were dusty, yet glowing softly, as if time itself was breathing inside. Curiosity tugged at Arin's heart harder than fear ever could. He stepped in.
Behind the counter stood an old man with silver hair and eyes that looked like they had seen centuries pass by.
"What do you sell?" Arin asked.
"Only what people are too afraid to face," the man replied. "We sell tomorrows."
Arin laughed, thinking it was a joke. "How much does one tomorrow cost?"
The old man smiled. "Nothing you own. Only something you will."
Without fully understanding why, Arin agreed.
The old man handed him a small glass bottle. Inside it swirled a faint golden light.
"This is your tomorrow," the man said. "You may open it once. But remember—borrowed tomorrows always ask for repayment."
That night, Arin couldn't sleep. At dawn, news spread across town—an enormous storm was coming. Stronger than any before. People panicked. Shops closed, families argued, and fear filled the air.
Arin remembered the bottle.
With trembling hands, he opened it.
Suddenly, the world shifted.
He was standing in the same town—but broken. Houses were damaged, trees uprooted, and silence replaced noise. Then he saw people rebuilding together, helping one another, smiling despite the ruins.
A voice echoed in his mind:
"This is what comes after the storm—if you don't give up."
The vision faded.
Arin closed the bottle, heart racing. He ran through town, warning people—not with fear, but with hope.
"Yes, the storm will come," he told them. "But we survive it. Together."
Some laughed at him. Some ignored him. But a few listened.
They prepared shelters. Shared food. Checked on neighbors.
When the storm finally arrived, it was fierce. Winds screamed. Rain fell like the sky was breaking apart.
But the town stood.
The next morning, as the sun rose over broken fences and fallen trees, people stepped outside—and saw each other.
For the first time in years, the town felt alive.
That evening, Arin returned to Tomorrow's Shop. The door was open.
"I used the tomorrow," Arin said. "So… what's the repayment?"
The old man nodded. "You must give tomorrow to others now. Not as visions—but as courage."
"How?"
"Live in a way that makes people believe the future is worth facing."
The shop faded into dust.
Years passed.
Arin grew up, but he never forgot. He became a teacher, a storyteller, a quiet leader. Whenever fear returned to the town, people looked to him—not because he knew the future, but because he reminded them they could build it.
And somewhere, beyond time and fear, tomorrow smiled—no longer borrowed, but shared.