Book Story Novels & Stories

I leaned back, listening and rubbing my swollen stomach, wishing the car ride would not end and we could all live in this world of joy and storytelling forever in a world that had seemed to turn upside down into its own saga. --------------------- - Note: This book is the property of Ulliend's Musings and is only allowed in approved formats such as D****e, Good Novel, TikTok, etc

Do let me know in comments which character you like the most in the book and why? Also please j.o.i.n my f.b Group Shree Above Story

At least there, I can have peace. When I arrived at the garden, I felt the peace hugging me. 'Finally.' Away from those stabbing gazes, away from that annoying expression of Rosine, away from that indifferent male lead. Amongst the books I brought with me, there's one with an inconspicuous book with a simple red cover. "From One Space to Another" is the title of the book. It is a romance story about a girl who can teleport from one place to another and a boy who was from another parallel universe.

“Hey… about what you saw earlier.” She jumped, clutching the book to her chest. “I—I didn’t see anything. I swear. I won’t tell anyone.” I smiled softly and stepped even closer, backing her gently against the shelves. “Relax. Professor Harlan and I… we have an understanding. But I saw how you looked at us. You didn’t run away because you were scared. You ran because it turned you on, didn’t it?” Her cheeks burned brighter. She shook her head quickly. “No… that’s not… I’m not—”

he said with a smirk. I grumbled and went to the bookshelf. There were like thousands of books there, and I spent a good thirty minutes arranging them. Those thirty minutes were stressful, to say the least. "I'm done," I sighed in relief. "You're done?" the young man asked. "Yes, so is my admission safe?" I responded. "Not yet," he replied. "What do you mean by that?!" I yelled in frustration. "Don't shout, just do one more thing," he said calmly.

The Book was officially successful. After that, entries appeared daily. A young musician wrote: > I came looking for a story. I found people. A father wrote: > My daughter wanted to see the lantern stars. We stayed for the kindness. An elderly woman wrote: > I was searching for someone. Turns out I was searching for somewhere. That one emotionally injured half the Hall. The Book grew quickly. Pages filling. Stories collecting. Lives intersecting. Proof accumulating. Exactly my favorite kind of thing. One afternoon I found Void reading through the entries alone.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously Copyright © 2021 Josie Frank Copy Editing and Formatting by Josie Frank Cover Design by JosieFrank Photography by Depositphotos Cover and photo from Depositphotos All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously

"He always has an excuse." "He doesn't know I'm only seven diary pages away from leaving him." "I got my period today, and the cramps were so bad I couldn't get out of bed. Dexter came home and brought me some painkillers without me asking." "He said it was the same kind he'd gotten for Brianna last time. She said they worked great, so they'd probably help me too." "I said thanks, but no thanks." "One page left. Then I'm done." The last page had only two lines.

I insisted. Silence fell between us. He looked back at the book. Then at me. Then back at the book again. “You’ve been reading it?” he asked. “Yes.” “How far?” “I don’t know… halfway, I think.” “And what is it about?” he asked. “It’s about a boy,” I said slowly. He didn’t interrupt. “They threw him into a well,” I continued. “Left him there to die.” Drake’s grip on the book tightened slightly. “He didn’t die,” I added.

“I am unfamiliar with where you came from, but I know very well where you are now. You are nestled in the Catskill Mountains just west of Monticello, New York near a little spoken of town called Honeyville. Master Rowan had this castle built well over a century ago as a place to lay his head when he was in this country. It is a lovely home with 44 rooms, 32 stairwells, 18 fireplaces and 21 chimneys, all hewn from hand-mixed reinforced concrete in a blend of medieval, Byzantine, and Gothic styles. When you are feeling better, perhaps you would like a tour.” “I was in Philadelphia,” Jasper muttered with despair. “I belong in Philadelphia. My work is there. My home…” “Your home is now he