Book Selfish Novels & Stories

Over the weekend, Trevis and I visited the mall and bought a stack of books, "Spoiling My Beloved Wife", "The Intimate Moments with My Boss", " Mr. Billionaire, Don’t Run Away" ...and many more. Trevis looked a bit awkward at the checkout counter, with the cashier, a young lady, repeatedly stealing glances at him. I stood behind him, wearing a big smile. After our book shopping spree, Trevis joined me at my place to help me pack my belongings. He had agreed to let me move into his apartment~

A book came out along with his hand, both fully intact. “The Courage to Trust,” by Dr. Franklin Reed. He had to be joking. There were hidden cameras here somewhere, I just knew it. No fucking way was the god of wolves cracking open a self-help book from the mortal realm. Sure enough, he fanned through the book eagerly, skipping over several chapters in the process. The tip of his tongue appeared from between his plump lips. He found the page he’d been looking for and quickly skimmed it. With a satisfied hum, he chucked the book behind his shoulder where it was swallowed up by that strange, shimmering magic.

The fact that we had no idea what we were looking for made things harder than they already were. In his room, I found endless books about self-care, self-love, emotional health, and healing. This is the strangest thing I found about Hickman since I’d taken an interest in his life. How can a man who owns an overflowed set of inspirational books hurt a kid like Bobby? This just doesn’t make sense.

“Excuses….. excuses….. excuses. I guess that is the only thing you are good at.” “ I am not making an excuse. People are allowed to keep the book for more than a week if they make a special application.” She tried to say in an even tone but it wavered slightly towards the end. “Whatever! I have no time to waste on people like you.” She said airily and stormed out of the door. “What a great way to start the day,” Sia muttered under her breath and checked the register to ensure that all the entries were in order. Then she walked along the shelves, running her hand over the books. She halted when she reached the ‘Fantasy’ section and pulled out a book titled, ‘Survival’.

‘Oh, please, you’re a part-time cleaner and he is an Italian tycoon…’ the inner voice told her. “Well, it could be… And I’m not that… I am a store manager and about to become a bookstore owner,” Phoebe whispered. “I am a businesswoman too.” ‘Yeah, right…’ the voice echoed in her head. Phoebe got up and decided to go back to the beach house. She must tell him her plans. Hear his thoughts. And, as soon as she got home, she is going to push the fear away and would approach the bank about a loan to buy the bookshop. Lorenzo would be so proud of her.

he advises. I thank him with a nod and watch as he bounces back behind the counter to finish his own book. I pick through a couple that have interesting covers, but after reading the jackets I put them down. It takes me forever to finally find one that sounds like it may work. The Business of Business sounds boring enough to put me to sleep. I don’t want to spend any more time digging through stacks, so I grab a random paperback that’s sitting on the edge of the table before heading to the counter. “Excellent choice!” the bookkeeper chirps as he rings me up. “This one here is a riveting read,” he says, holding up the paperback I hadn’t even glanced at.

The total is $180. In my first timeline, I would have put it all back. Would have felt guilty for spending money on something frivolous while my family had "needs." This time, I hand over my card without hesitation. "Taking up a new hobby?" the cashier asks, smiling. "Learning to live," I say. She looks confused but rings me up anyway. Next: bookstore. I buy six novels I've wanted to read. Not self-help. Not medical journals. Just stories. Just escape. Just pleasure.

“I understand. We all have things we carry with us. Things that shape us, even when we wish they didn’t. I’m a teacher, you see—at the local high school. I spend my days with young people who are trying to figure out who they are, and I’ve learned that everyone has a story. Some are happy, some are sad, but all of them matter. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But please know that if you ever need someone to listen without judging, I’m here.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, worn book, placing it gently on the counter. “This is one of my favorites. It’s about finding strength in simplicity, and learning that peace is more valuable than power. You’re wel

An old bookstore with a faded sign. I went inside the bookstore. The smell of old paper and dust filled my nose. Shelves crammed with books nobody wanted anymore. A gray cat sleeping on the counter. "Can I help you?" The owner appeared from behind a stack of books. Old. Friendly. Completely uninterested in who I was or what I did. "Just looking," I said. "Take your time. The good ones are usually hiding." I browsed for twenty minutes. Not looking for anything specific. Just existing in a space that had nothing to do with business or therapy or growth.

Inside, the world learned to whisper. Sasha drifted past the tables of new releases and bright covers. A staff recommendation card propped under a novel promised “a heroine you’ll ache for.” She smiled at that—envy, maybe; exhaustion, certainly. She chose something thick with a map on the first page and a promise of a different kind of kingdom. The cashier, a teenager with soft blue hair and nails bitten to the quick, bagged it and didn’t look twice at the man in the suit hovering nearby. Bless the oblivious and underpaid.