The notebook

He came to the bookshelf and grabbed the notebook. He opened it by a specific page, read it and shake his head, disappointed. Then, he closed the notebook and left it in the bookshelf again. 

It was being like that for an hour. Maybe more. And all he knew was three things: 

1. That notebook had appeared at his bookshelf that morning by itself. 
2. There was no name or signature on it, so he couldn't know who the actual owner was.
3. The only thing was written on it was a date, a place and an hour.  An under them all, his full name. 

He was trying for a while to figure out what that meant, but it was completely hopeless. 

He stared at the clock. Five minutes left to the hour that was written at the notebook. In fact, it was the same day that was also written in the note. And suddenly, he came up with something. 

He opened the notebook again and then he closed it immediately. He left the room and went downstairs, thinking he had just revealed the mistery of the notebook.

At the moment he was about to cross the street, a lorry hit him according to his death's date. 

The notebook disappear from the bookshelf, moving to another one with a different date, place, hour and name on it.