Books Are My Life... Novels & Stories

“Kaszalo.” He sighed, cleared his throat. “Most people look at these and assume, as we do, that all of this is nothing but paper and ink.” He scanned the shelves, the volumes. “What they don’t know is these books have a life.” His eyes slowed, pausing on the antique letters stamped on the battered spines. The different heights, widths, colors. “Books are never just books. Never just paper, ink. Dust.” He looked at her. “These stories mean something. Even if those who told them disappeared long ago, these words are their voices, their lives. Still. “And there’s nothing worse than robbing someone of their words, right?”

I just shook my head. I looked at the books there where there were students. New is too expensive. At the sale, the books were slightly damaged but that's okay with me because the pages are not damaged, the damage is more on the cover. "Hellbound........ starry sky.........life in Pandora........" Wait, life what? I looked back at the book. Life in Pandora. I blinked my eyes but the title didn't change. My heart beat faster. I know I'm hoping again but I can't help it. Pandora is not an unknown term here. It's common. Like Pandora's box or titles of stories. It's sealed, but it looks like there are watermarks on its pages.

There was a kitchen, open to the living space, with a worn butcher block counter and pots hanging from a rack above the island, the pots of someone who actually used them, their surfaces the matte gray of regular heat and regular cleaning. I stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly. "You have so many books," I said. "I do," he said. He was watching me take in the space. "Have you read all of them?" "Most," he said. "Some of them I keep for the same reason you keep certain people in your life. Not because you're actively engaging with them but because having them nearby means something." I looked at him.

I, on the other hand, fell ill with a fever for the next three days. The memory made me pull out my phone and book my plane ticket.

## Author's Note Hello everyone, I am incredibly grateful that you have taken the time to delve into my book “Caged by Him.” Your time and attention are invaluable, and I want to express my heartfelt thanks for allowing my story to be a part of your day. Writing this book has been a journey filled with passion, creativity, and a few challenges along the way, and I’m thrilled to share it with you.

To her, the happiest activity in the world was counting money. Being a programmer, she was pretty decent with numbers. As she counted stack after stack, Julian piped up behind her, "There's a gift ledger on the side. You can just use that to count the total." It would be much faster than counting the actual dollar bills. Thinking that Julian was too drunk to engage in any of the usual wedding night activities, Angela happily carried on counting the money. "That's not the same! It feels different to hold the money and count it."

I didn't have to wake up early to wait on Ethan. I could finally do whatever I liked, but I didn't have much time left. When I turned on my phone, there were no missed calls, nor were there any messages. Nobody cared about me. But it was fine. I had myself. I opened my WhatsApp and found the familiar profile picture. Eventually, I restrained myself. Since we broke up, I shouldn't bother him anymore. Having four months left to live, I wanted to visit places I'd never been before. I pulled out my passport, which had never been used even once. Then, I booked the earliest flight to Swilea.

The room fell silent, captivated by the book's sudden appearance. "It contains the record of both the good and the evil that each person has done. This book is the ultimate judge of our actions, as it holds the truth of every soul." "The Book of Life will guide us in determining the outcome of this trial," he continued, his gaze piercing as he looked at me. "It will reveal the truth of your actions and help us reach a just verdict."

Pain kept me awake. The front door clicked open. Someone stepped into the living room, moving quietly, footsteps creeping toward my bedroom. Blackie woke beside me, green eyes glowing in the dark. I took a slow breath and pulled it into my arms. Its warm body pressed against me through my thin pajamas. In the dark, I reached for the lamp on my nightstand. My bedroom door was slightly open. The door swung open, and cold air rushed in. Gritting my teeth, I hurled the lamp.

Then I add, “But I’m not in any rush to be a grandmother.” Noah chokes on air. Emily snorts in the front seat. Raven bursts into laughter. “Trust me,” Raven says, wiping her eyes, “I’m not ready for that stage of life either.” The tension breaks. Just for a moment. Just long enough to breathe. Grace and Liam are already hauling my books into the dining room when we arrive. Stacks and stacks of them—old leather-bound grimoires, Warren family journals, spellbooks, prophecy collections, everything I’ve ever studied.