15 Minutes Book Novels & Stories

Or was it an old video, and had he left immediately after he won the case yesterday? Stop, Aria; don’t think of him. He doesn’t think of you, so how dare you think of him? Pff, time to sleep. - The next morning, Mother kept complaining about why I had no groceries in the kitchen, what I ate, and all. But it was soon 8am, and I had to finally publish my book; my gaze lingered on the clock. 7:59 One Two I kept counting the seconds, and when it was a few seconds to 8, I clicked the button, and my book was now live.

Exactly what I needed. I opened the book and checked the time. Just under two hours before my session—plenty, if I actually used it. That was the plan, anyway. I read the first sentence. Then the second. Then I realized I hadn’t taken in a single word of either. I rubbed my forehead and tried again. It didn’t work. My thoughts kept sliding back to what Bella had said earlier about Davin and a scandal that shattered his reputation. I forced my eyes back to the page. Read the same paragraph three times. And again, I understood none of it.

It’s getting hotter. “Am I going to have to do it myself?” Can I? I look down at my tiny arms. Will they manage with the water and the soap and- “I’ll give it a half hour. “ I go. A half-hour, and if no one comes in by then, I try again for the books. “Come on,” I plead. “Give me something.” Anything? I picked up the next book without even bothering to read the title. I toss it open and start flipping pages. Nothing so far, just some illustrations. But it doesn’t take long to see it won’t be enough.

I entered mine, went through the three books I had gotten from the store, and set them down on the bed. I folded my arms and read their names. The Claiming Rites, Finding the One, and Under the Red Moon. There was no order in which anyone should read these books, so I sat down and picked up The Claiming Rites. After an hour, I finished reading. The book made zero sense, and then I picked up Finding the One and spent another hour reading through it. While the first book was incomplete, the second made a little more sense. I picked up the third, which I had gone to Zion’s room with. I took my time reading, and another hour went by.

Exactly what I had spent hours repeating to myself. I pull the last book with the title Secrets of Time from the shelf. My hand gripped the book tighter as it was the same book Traian had in his home. I went through its pages. And after 30 minutes, I felt like I was reading the first book I picked in this room when I already read and browsed almost 15 books. My legs started to quiver and I sank to the ground, feeling as though my energy had left my body. The book dropped with a loud thud.

And neither was it a book made of gold like the one in the territory of Octavius. No, that was your copy. A book written in twenty-four hours by a teenager raised in a convent. But he was bound to pretend to be a religious book, so that its owner could read it anywhere without being prevented by it, and so that he could bring the earth as many demons as possible.

I have two more chapters of my book to go. I finish those chapters in thirty minutes and I put down the book. I am not feeling sleepy, so I pick my phone up, put in my air pods and check for a movie to watch. I have less than four hours till dinner, so I pick the Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead man’s chest movie and I settle down to watch it.

Zia Stephanie's POV I felt like time begun to lose its meaning. The passage of time felt like it was heavenly distorted where space time worked into different scale on the other dimension. What should only be a few minutes seemed like I had endured dew hours and what might feel like small width of time could be extensive.

"He was at a council session forty minutes south. He received word and left immediately." I walk beside her and I listen and I do not say anything. "He arrived twelve minutes after it ended." Twelve minutes. I let that number sit in me as we walk .... the specific, terrible precision of it. Not an hour. Not a day. Twelve minutes. Close enough that the difference between arriving and not arriving is the length of a short meeting, a slow road, a decision made four seconds later than it could have been. Close enough to spend nine years doing the mathematics of what twelve minutes contains and what twelve minutes costs.

Lauren POV Morning comes the same way it always does now, quiet, early, refreshing. I wake before my alarm, before the city fully remembers itself, before my mind has time to wander into places I no longer allow it to live in. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar but safe. That’s how I like it now. I sat in the silent, slightly dark room for about 15 minutes before picking up the new book I'd gotten the last time I went shopping. Atomic Habits by James Clear.