It was a late night, one of those when sleep wouldn't come, and TikTok and YouTube had long since ceased to bring joy. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what to do with this utterly useless time. At one point, I glanced at the book on my desk—open, with a random receipt tucked between the pages. It wasn't a bookmark, more of a sad, makeshift one. And then it struck me: maybe I should make my own bookmark?