Between The World And Me Book Review Novelas e Histórias

The word landed in my chest and detonated. A book. My words. My voice. Bound and printed and sitting on shelves and in strangers' hands and existing in the world as a permanent, undeniable thing that I'd built from nothing but pain and a laptop and the stubborn, desperate belief that my feelings weren't too much. "I – yeah," I said. "I've considered it." "Good. Think about it seriously. I'll send you their contact information." She hung up. I sat on my bed with the phone in my lap and the word book expanding inside me like a held breath that had been waiting months to be released.

Marked as mine. The real work, today, won't be in the files. It will be in that three-meter space between our two desks. In the silence that isn't silence, but a dialogue of glances, sighs, the rustle of paper between her fingers. And in the growing murmur, outside, of a world that has just realized it has a weak point. She has entered my world. Now, let's see how she survives in it. And how my world survives her.

The stories, however fragmented, painted a portrait of a richer, fuller existence, one vastly different from the harsh reality of our own. The stark contrast between the world depicted in the book and our current surroundings was palpable. The book’s vivid descriptions of lush forests, clear skies, and bustling cities were a world away from the radioactive ruins that surrounded us. It was a reminder of the potential of humanity, a testament to what we had lost, and a beacon of hope for what could still be.

Before going into the study to answer, he came over, put his arm around my shoulders, and kissed my forehead: "The cat keeps meowing, it must be hungry. Chloe says it only eats freshly cooked salmon. Baby, could you prepare some?" I looked at the still-warm tea in my hand and suddenly realized that for twelve years, he had been gentle and considerate toward me. I thought that was love. Only now do I understand his heart was never with me. Without waiting for my reply, he walked into the study and shut the door. I finished packing and set my luggage aside. The company gave me three days to hand over my work, after which I’d be posted to Northern Europe.

I asked Callum. "You'll see in a second, sugarplum." He replied with a smirk, kissing my cheek. We found the seating, and saw around thirty people sitting, many with the same book in their hands. They were chatting quietly, waiting for the author. I instantly recognized the book as A Black and White World by one of my favorite author's Zara Jones. My palms began to sweat as we sat down in the back. "Oh my God Callum, I could die right now." I whispered in excitement.

While his body was ripped into pieces and no place in the library was free of blood. "Mike." I said barely above a whisper while tears kept on falling from eyes. My whole world had shattered into pieces and dust. *** Keep reading the book for more awaited fun especially in the next chapter. Love, EemanFaisal25

a hand snapped in front of me. “Sorry. Umm, but to answer your question. I don’t hate them. But I don’t love them too. I just wish they leave us be. Stop this attack and bring back the peacefulness we once had.” I said as I looked at him. I gave him a small smile but his void face still stared at me. A part of me started to feel something about him. Is he a…. No, that can’t be possible. Right?

"No, but I can't get into details, let's just say they wanted two different things in two different worlds and no one took the time to view the imperfections in their world before they judged the others." - End of Chapter 15: Worlds -

Then— I froze. That book. Tucked between two others like it was just like any other book. Like it hadn’t disappeared me to another world the moment I opened it. I gave myself a moment, and then I gently carried it down. I exhaled shakily, flipping it open. A rush of something hot, suffocating crawled over my skin. Words blurred. I sucked in a sharp breath, slamming the book shut. Not here. But I was going to find out more about this.

I had thought that maybe a few people would read my book, but I had never imagined that it would resonate with so many. As I read through the messages and comments, I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment wash over me. I had done it. I had written a book that people were actually reading and enjoying. It was a feeling like no other. But it wasn't just the fact that people were reading my book that was amazing. It was the fact that they were connecting with it on a deep level. They were sharing their own stories, their own struggles, and their own triumphs. They were telling me that my book had inspired them, that it had made them feel less alone.