15 Minutes Book Novels & Stories

But how long will he wait ? And why do women often go to the comfort room? After her secretary informed her that Spring Solitaire had a book launching that day, he hurried to the event. He was almost worried that he might not make it because it was seven o'clock in the evening. It is good that the writer was generous with her time given to her readers. But later, he hated it too. It was past eight when she decided to leave. He was planning to confront her in the parking area, but someone was with her.

I knew there would be work to be done but these books would take months to read. "No, you will get to read them but for the work we have to do now, I have a summary." She produced what looked like a long novel. "This is something my predecessor wrote. It is a bit more concise with only six volumes." She handed it to me. I took the book with reverence. "It contains everything you need. The plan is for you to read a section in two days and the next evening, we can take a short walk and discuss what you've read," she said as she set the other books aside.

He goes away while I'm staring at everyone, trying to keep myself busy with my thoughts even though I feel out of place. He returned with a canned drink; we found a spot to see and finally sat. I suck at starting up a conversation; instead, I focus on scrolling through my phone while Daniel discusses it with the rest of the people sitting with us; it's a table of four. Then everywhere goes silent; the author of the book goes to the stage, and behind the stage is a projector displaying the book with animation that accompanies it. Titled, “When I broke free”It's a middle-aged woman, possibly in her late 40s.She begins.

I pulled out the book that I needed and huffed when I felt the sudden weight of it in my arms. I placed the book back on my table, but the stupid book made a loud noise on the desk, and I winced in embarrassment. Thankfully nobody paid any attention to me. I spread out all my books and started engaging myself with the work for the next two hours. ----- I looked at my watch to see that I still had forty-five minutes left before the bust that I usually went in would make an appearance. I had finished most of the things that I was supposed to do for the day. I stretched myself out on the chair, my back hurting from bending over my books for so long.

“unlucky contestants…shelf two, book thirteen.” It sounded oddly like a personal note. My curiosity won out and I skimmed my fingers along the spines of the books until I chose one at random. I pulled out a medium-sized book, a deep shade of navy blue. Earthen twine was wrapped around the book, and there was a picture on the front. A middle-aged man with chocolate hair and dark eyes smiled up at me. The cover of the book read, “Arthur Zimmerman, Game 71.

"There are more than ten tunnels on this route. The one up ahead is the longest. It takes a full three minutes to pass through!" The moment I heard that, I looked at Phoebe excitedly. She froze for a moment, too, seemingly understanding what I was thinking. After a brief hesitation, she shyly gave a small nod. Three minutes might not be long, but it was more than enough. "Ready?" I asked quietly. I could tell that Phoebe had already reached her limit. Her body felt softer as she leaned into my arms. Phoebe nodded. However, her hand unconsciously rested against the front of my pants.

── I let her read for almost six minutes. I want to tell you why, because the six minutes were the most disciplined six minutes I had spent in my adult life. Every part of my body and every operational instinct I had developed across four years and twenty cases was telling me to speak immediately to take the moment, to close the silence, to deliver the sentence I had composed in the SUV on the way over from Brooklyn Heights. The six minutes were the cost of waiting until she had had the experience of reading the book in a public room without me being a part of the experience. The book deserved that.

But she… didn’t flinch. Lena walked over to a little table display and picked up a thin, cloth-bound book. She walked over to him, holding it out like an offering. *The Quiet Between Lightning Strikes.* A poetry book. The cover was old and nubbly, the title scribbled in fine silver ink. Julian stared at it like it was an alien thing. "What's this?" "A book," she said, smiling. "I told you. I don't—"

But I did. Eli does not look away. He just nods slowly. "Maybe someday," he repeats. We eat in silence for a moment. The music plays. The waitress refills our coffee. Outside, the street is still empty. Then my phone buzzes. I check it. The time is 10:44. The bus will be here in six minutes. "The bus," I say. Eli looks at his own phone. "We still have time." "Six minutes. That is not enough to walk back and be sure."

They were only 15 minutes away, if I remember correctly the party was at a guys house who's about 20-30 minutes away so he must be telling. Soon after my conclusion another massage came through saying "now do you believe me?" I quickly replied with a 'yes' before paying for a unber. The unber will be here in 5 minutes, and it'll take 15 minutes to get to them, that's 20 minutes. So if I speed back here I'll have a little over 5 minutes to purchase my books. I grab my phone and learner's permit before heading downstairs. I thanked God when the driver showed up early. I quickly got into back.