Book 365 Days Novels & Stories

The sports day was about to begin. Then my phone buzzed. It wasn’t a message from David—but a post from Sophia Sinclair. She’d uploaded a photo of David sitting beside a little boy at a piano, smiling as he guided the boy’s hands over the keys. Her caption read: “What’s it like to have an Alpha for a dad?” My hand went numb around the phone. When I turned, Joseph was still staring out the window. Our eyes met through the glass. He already knew. He turned slowly, his voice quiet but far too mature for his age.

A sleepless night left me running on fumes. I was just about to make myself a coffee when a delivery guy brought in a large box of milk tea and small cakes. Then came the cheers of my colleagues. "Mr. Baldwin is buying afternoon snacks? When did he get so generous?" "Clueless! It's for Leticia's new diet. We're just lucky to get free snacks!"

Slightly less controlled. "I know you know," she said. "I just needed you to hear it from someone else." We sat in silence for a moment. "Three days," I said. "What happens in three days." "It ends," I said. A pause. "Okay," she said. "Three days." "And Dara." "Yeah." "Thank you. For all of it. Every single part of it." "Always," she said simply. She hung up. I put my phone down. Beckett had not looked up from his book.

"The fourth book is available only to the reader who has been inside a long accumulation long enough that the ordinary day is the deepest thing they know." Ernest looked at him. "The ordinary day is the deepest thing." "Yes," Don said. "The deepest thing available to the person inside the accumulation. Not the significant events — the naming, the trips, the books. The ordinary day. The Wednesday with thirty years of Wednesdays in it. That is the deepest thing." He held Ernest's gaze. "The fourth book argues that the ordinary day is the deepest thing. The sequence of four books has been approaching this argument from the beginning. The first book is about where we are. The second is about wha

“ It's been five years babe, I think that's enough time. Look, this is a bad idea ok? Trust me.” Thom Sinclair isn't someone who pretends to care about you if he doesn't, and I know he doesn't give a damn about me. The guy is scary, no doubt. He built a million dollar company from scratch so I understood his hesitation towards me at first, but it became ridiculous after time went by. I am not after the Sinclair's money.

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The edges of the book was decorated with flowers and leaves drawn with a black marker that had Ian thinking how long June had spent on making the cover itself. "For Ian" was written in the center of the cover. Ian held the book and looked at June, "What's this?" "Open it," he excitedly said. Ian opened the notebook and on the first page, in a neat handwriting was written, "Start writing a journal every day." Ian raised my eyebrows and looked at June, "What's this?" June causally shrugged even though his eyes were telling something else. "It is said that it takes twenty one days to form a habit." He looked at Ian. "Once I am gone, go through this note book, I have written things you could to

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May 9 of 2030 came in and Andrew, as he had always been for the last five years, woke up with a hangover. But that day, he woke up with the ID card in his hands kept safe in his chest. That was the only remnant that was left with him after the accident.