Chapter 5:the janitor's wisdom

Julian walked through the quiet library after school, carrying his notebook like a shield. The fluorescent lights hummed softly, and the smell of old books filled the air. He had always avoided this place, thinking it was too quiet for someone like him, but today he needed a corner to write without interruption.

As he slid into a shadowed aisle, an old man appeared, pushing a cart of mops and cleaning supplies. His name was Mr. Kellan, and he had been the library janitor for decades. His clothes were worn, but his eyes were sharp, watching everything with a gentle curiosity.

“Late again, huh?” Mr. Kellan said, a small smile tugging at his lips. Julian froze. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just nodded. The old man wheeled past, humming softly, and Julian returned to his corner, pretending he hadn’t spoken.

Over the next few days, Julian kept noticing Mr. Kellan around the library. He would quietly sweep the floors, occasionally straightening books, always humming. And sometimes, he would sit nearby, pretending to read a newspaper, yet clearly watching Julian’s scribbles and movements.

One afternoon, Julian’s notebook slipped off the table, pages fluttering across the floor. Mr. Kellan bent down and helped him gather them, saying, “You write a lot for someone your age. Most kids give up too quickly.” Julian blinked, unsure how to respond. No one had ever noticed him like that before.

Mr. Kellan didn’t lecture him. He didn’t ask about his home or school. He simply said, “Every person has their own pace. Some fall, some wait, some fight. You… seem to notice things others don’t. That’s your strength.” Julian stared at him, surprised. No one had ever called what he did a strength.

Over the next week, Julian returned daily. Sometimes Mr. Kellan would offer advice hidden in small stories about old books or forgotten authors. “This one writer,” he said one day, “failed hundreds of times before anyone cared. You’d be surprised how often the quiet ones are the smartest.” Julian scribbled it in his notebook, feeling a spark of hope.

Mr. Kellan also taught Julian subtle lessons without saying much: how to observe people, how to notice patterns in behavior, how to protect oneself without confrontation. It wasn’t magical or dramatic, but Julian noticed that each day he left the library feeling a little taller, a little more certain.

One rainy afternoon, Julian paused and said, “Why do you care?” The janitor smiled gently. “I don’t. Not really. But I’ve seen a lot of kids like you. Some never get a chance to notice their own worth. You already have. You just need someone to remind you.” Julian felt warmth he hadn’t felt in months.

That night, as he wrote in his notebook, Julian realized something profound: he wasn’t alone. Not entirely. Mr. Kellan didn’t solve his problems or fight his battles, but he gave Julian something no one else had — a quiet reflection of his own potential. And for the first time, Julian began to see that maybe, just maybe, he could survive — and grow — without waiting for the world to save him.