Book Take Me Home Novels & Stories

The little girl thought for a moment, opened the bag behind her, took out a book, and handed it to him, saying, "Take a look at this. There are many answers in it." Joe took it and the little girl waved at him. "Big Brother, I'm going home. You should go home too." She ran toward her mother. Joe looked down at the cover of the book: "A hundred thousand reasons." All of a sudden, he didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and at the same time, he felt much more comfortable. He seemed to have figured it out, and his heart was no longer so heavy. When he got home, Jane came out of the car and saw Joe walking back. She asked in surprise, "Where's your car?"

Well, I shouldn’t have taken her book that way, but Zayn Usman never asks for permission. It was in my nature to take, and not ask for permission. She will also have to learn to be more receptive towards me. I took a healthy drag of smoke. This shit tastes so good on my tongue, and it calmed my nerves so well. It was just exactly what I needed. I looked back at the book in my hand. Damn it! It was useless, I will have to return it tomorrow morning. I got my feet as I smoked once more, then dropped the book on the table.

He was looking around, spotting more pictures set up on the coffee table and on a shelf by the television. The house resembled his, not in size because Eden and Dean's might as well be a mansion and compared to that, this might as well be a shack. No, it resembled it in the way where everything about it screamed 'home'. There were photos hung up proudly everywhere, knitted blankets thrown over the backs of the couches and folded up at the end, there were toys in the corners and schoolbooks placed carelessly on bookshelves. It looked lived in, like a family lived here and they were happy together. It just had that feel to it.

She stormed into my room. It was tiny. Just a bed, a desk, and a little bookshelf. Mom stood in the middle of it, looking around. Then she went to my desk, opened the drawer, and pulled out my sketchbook. She'd bought it after I got the highest score in my class. Light blue cover. Little white rabbit. I'd filled it with drawings. Besides studying, drawing was the only thing I had. Mom opened the sketchbook, glanced at it, and started ripping.

He told me as he held it out for me to take. “Emma Fennelly!” I spoke aloud as I read the neat black ink on the front of the book. “I can read this?” “You can read whatever book in here you want. I know you miss your life at home, and I know you must miss your parents terribly and that none of this was of your asking or doing, but while you are here, just think of it as your new home away from home. So, you can come in here and read whenever you like. Apart from the bedrooms of others, the rest of this place is yours just as much as it is theirs”.

Her cathedral. She slouched into her best corner chair—stuffed, tufted velvet in tired blue—pullding out a book from her tote. A quiet night's reading before bed was now her ritual, and for tonight, she opened what was familiar and comforting: *The Light Between Oceans*. The book always bore its imprint on her. Loss. Forgiveness. Breaking and binding decisions. She opened to the top of it, and the world disintegrated. Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him.

“I’ll be in the car. I want to go home.” I walked away without looking back, my father followed, silently this time. Behind me, I heard Chase mutter to Ethan, “you fucked up, man.” Ethan’s voice was quiet as he handed the book over. “Keep this safe.” Chase took, put it in his pocket and followed after us. The ride home was heavy and unbearable. I stared out the withe entire time, th3 smell of smoke still in my hair and my whole body. With my clothes stained with ashes.

I looked around in amazement at the familiar mall layout and the familiar Christmas tree standing in the center, just like in my previous life. The towering 30-foot Christmas tree was covered with decorative gift boxes that sparkled enticingly under the lights. I took a deep breath, overwhelmed by an indescribable shock. I had actually been reborn, returned to the very day I died so horribly in my previous life. My mother-in-law, Paula Sutton, turned to look at my husband, Oliver Canning, who was beside her, her voice filled with urgency and excitement. "Oli, look at these gift boxes! They're wrapped so nicely. There must be good stuff inside!"

Gazing back towards the book, it felt as if something was pushing me towards it. I got up and walked towards the book. Placing it on my lap I noticed that the cover was filled with complicated detailing. The material felt rough, it felt old but well-taken care of. The colors were a mixture of ash grey, gold, and specks of white, the title was written in crimson red. Taking a bite from my food, I opened the first page of the book. ---------- [Chapter Quote: "Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she reads, she is home ."]

~RIYA I couldn’t unsee the words from the book. I carried them in my head, in my heart—each syllable etched like flame across my mind. “The Moon will call her home…” But what did that mean? And where was home for someone like me? For hours after Thane left me in the library, I sat still with the ancient book cradled in my lap like it was a sacred relic. The more I read, the more I felt this quiet storm building inside me—soft, steady, inevitable.