The book that came back after seven years

Found it today in the returns bin: a tattered copy of The Old Man and the Sea, spine cracked, pages yellowed like dried milk. No due date stamp—just a name written in pencil on the inside cover: 'M.' I remember this kid. Came in every Friday after school, always quiet, always with a new book. He never checked out anything else. I thought he’d stopped coming. But he did. He returned it. And I kept it. Not because it was valuable. Because someone cared enough to bring it back.