Blank Page Notebook Novels & Stories

"Shrina ..." She held up a hand. "I know. You're with Zander. It was just odd." She pulled out a notebook and opened it. "Anyway, I found some weird stuff written in this yesterday and wanted to ask you about it." I bent toward the notebook. A picture of a dark shape, kind of like a monster with its mouth gaping open was expertly illustrated across its lined pages, but I didn't understand its significance. I gave her questioning look. "So?" "This was Bobby's notebook. Look again." She shoved the notebook closer to my face.

“If Bianca’s mark is here, if Draco’s hand in this affair has left a trace, the journal will show it.” I nodded. “Then let’s see it.” I moved to the little cupboard where I’d hidden the journal after we took it from the ruin. My fingers brushed the leather and pulled it free. For a brief, terrible moment hope rose, this was the key, surely. I opened it. Blank. A smear of cream across fine parchment, empty as a tomb. For a breath the room hummed with absurdity. “Blank?” My voice echoed, incredulous.

Celina shrugged it off and diligently walked towards the empty table and placed the tray. From the corner of her eyes she spotted a desk which formerly been covered in papers, she was sure, but all that had vanished with the desk’s owner and all that remained was an inconspicuous leather notebook and some spare parchment. Walking further towards the desk, Celina was compelled to open the notebook. She knew its probably a horrible idea, but the Prince was drawn away somewhere unexpectedly, so indeed, he’d be gone long enough for her to peek inside quickly.

He led her to the bench beneath the trellis and knelt in front of her. "You already gave me a ring," Mira said, smiling. "Several, actually." "This isn't about a ring." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small leather notebook—the same kind her father had used, the same kind she'd filled with evidence against Castellano. "This is about the future." Mira took the notebook, her brow furrowed. "What is it?" "Open it." She opened the cover. The pages were blank—hundreds of them, empty and waiting.

Just the blank page and two unanswered questions sitting in the same room as each other. I closed the notebook. Set it on the nightstand and turned off the light.

Blank. I turned it over, held it toward the light, checked both sides of the single sheet inside. Nothing… no writing, no symbol, no embossed mark. Just a black envelope containing a white page that had nothing on it. I stood on the step in the cold and looked at the blank page and thought about what blank meant. It could have been a mistake, something meant for another address. It could have been a test of something I hadn’t identified yet. It could have been the specific message that blankness sometimes was… an announcement of presence without content, the envelope itself being what was communicated rather than anything inside it.

I made it feel like mine in a way you only do in a space you think you can use. I had been happy. That was the simplest version of it. But the, a few minutes later, I had found a strange notebook in the bottom drawer of the desk, pushed to the back behind a pen tray that had been left behind by the previous occupant. It was plain, dark blue cover, the kind sold in the campus stationery shop. I had picked it up intending to check if it was blank and either use it or throw it away. The name on the inside front cover stopped me.

Shelves lined with notebooks in every size, pens in neat rows, and blank journals stacked by the window. I moved to the notebooks and picked one up. "Too big," Duke said. I put it back. Found a smaller one—plain cover, nothing fancy, easy to carry in a pocket or a bag. I flipped it open. Blank pages, lined, the kind that didn't demand anything from you until you were ready. "That one," Duke said.