Anonymous Diary Books Novels & Stories

Then they arrived in front of an apartment building near Adrian’s School and took the elevator to an apartment on the fourth floor. Except for a bed and a desk, there wasn’t much furniture in that modest house. However, the wooden floor was piled high with various books, and the massive bookshelf was crammed with folders and labeled books. Adrian drew back the sheet that covered the bed, allowing the dust to float in the air. He explained, “This is where I used to live while I was working as a private detective. But I have not been here for quite some time.” “You see, there are lot of notebooks on these shelves. That’s the records I have been writing in since I was thirteen years old, and I

Audrey said "Okay." Adrian said opening the first page "Whoa, how long have you been doing this?" Adrian asked flipping through the pages "Since the first day we kissed each other, you like it?" Audrey asked "Of course. It's like you painted everything we've done together. I don't like it, I love it." Adrian said "Thanks, wanna see a family album?" Audrey asked "If you deem me worthy." Adrian said "Here this was before the girls and I became close, and this one is after we became friends. Most people have diaries for expressing themselves. I just express my feelings with my drawings." Audrey said

Aditi was seating on her bed as her hand-carried a pen that was scribbling on her personal diary as her tears fell apart. 09.05.20xx, I tried...I tried everything I could, No matter how many messages I left you, you won't even care to message me back...you cold-hearted jerk. No...Sorry, you are not cold-hearted I take my words back. But why did you go back? Will you come back again? Will you ever know there is a girl called Anvi who secretly liked you, like you, and will also do...? Will you ever know...that from the moment I saw you...I fell head over heels for you. Anan...this so-called diary which I'm writing to you...will it ever reach you...?", The entry ended...her tear fell off from h

Write a story that’s been crawling for four years and still has no ending. Annoy Mom or Paris, which always ends with me getting yelled at. Great. Real healing behavior. I walked to my notebook shelf and pulled out one of my old journals—the one I got on my 16th birthday. I flipped to the first page. Saw my handwriting. Saw his name. Closed it like it was on fire. “YUCK!” I shouted, shaking the notebook like it had germs. Why did I even write stuff like that? That was so gross.

My subconscious told me my secrets were already out in the open and everyone I walked past was staring at me, even when they weren't. I'd received a total of three notes from an anonymous sender claiming to be with my diary. During lunch I sat alone by a corner, perhaps if I blended well enough, no one would care enough to potentially ruin my life. I heard the clink of hells on the marbled floor and then the voice I'd already learnt to dread in just the few days I'd been in Crimson Claw. “Hello, Anaya. I hope you're doing well today?” Her voice made me want to throw up. I felt like I'd get diabetes just from listening too long.

"I understand, Perer. We are good friends. Aren't we?" "Yes, we are." "Good!" Henry acknowledged. "Now, tell me about this diary of yours you have been writing for almost a year now." “You want to hear all about it?” “Yeah! Tell me all about it.” "Well," I started, trying to bring my diary/book/memoir into a positive limelight, "the book I am writing is basically a diary. Inside it, are events of my life that I have recorded. Though, there are times I would like to see it as my memoir but I can't due to the nature of it. My book is not something you will see on every regular bookstore in the market. It is unique and addresses the reader in a way you have never seen before. I know you know it

Adrian's POV The weeks following the release of my latest book felt like a whirlwind. I had thought that publishing my first work and seeing it well-received would be the peak of my career, but this one was different. It was deeply personal, a reflection of our family, our love, and the trials Noah and I had faced together. I poured my heart into every chapter, writing late at night when the house was quiet, letting my memories guide me as my words took shape on the page.

My mouthwatering from the site. Walking back over to me, Angela hands me the book. It was black. Soft leather with nothing on the cover to signal what it was. Explaining to me that it was a diary. Before explaining to me that I should write down everything that goes on with me, so I don't have to bottle up my feelings.

I flipped the page of my notebook, leaning down to grab my textbook from the door beside my chair. And that’s when the idea struck. Slowly, deliberately, I let the book slip from my fingers. It hit the floor with a soft thud. “Oh—" I bent down immediately to pick it up and the classroom suddenly felt very quiet. Very still. I didn’t rush. Instead, I took my time reaching for the book, my skirt shifting slightly as I moved. A risky move. A deliberate move. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then— Jeff cleared his throat sharply.

I immediately knew that it was all Mireya's. "I will leave you to it," Adrian left me alone with the box filled with sketchbooks, drawings, diaries, and a lot of personal diaries. I took the first diary of 2008 as I stared at it. She has been writing in her diary since she was eight years old. I looked at the last diary 2022, the current year. Jan 2008 Hey Violet,