Bookshelf Booktok Novels & Stories

She dragged her self to her bathroom to have a shower and ready herself to be blinded by the ray of light heading towards her apartment like a damn tornado. Kehlani's room was quite spacious, really spacious. It screamed Melancholy. Two wide and huge aesthetic shelves stood tall at a corner of the room, both shelves filled with books neatly stacked. One would notice if they moved closer that some of the books on the top shelves of both book shelves had her name inscribed by the side. On the top of the shelves were awards, ranging from public speaking to bestseller to poetry awards.

"I bruise like a peach!" The door slammed shut, the lock clicking, and I was alone. The room was unexpected. It looked like a private library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined three walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that looked older than my entire bloodline. A massive fireplace dominated the fourth wall, unlit but stacked with logs. Two high-backed leather chairs sat in front of it, and a small table between them held a crystal decanter of something amber. Very cozy, very ‘let's have a civilized chat before I ruin your life.’

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surreal. [Is this your new number? Can I send you a photo?] “S-Sure..” In less than a minute, her phone vibrated and she looked to see what the image was. A soft gasp came from her mouth as she clasped a hand over it. It was a whole bookshelf dedicated to her book. She knew because her book’s banner was above it, and what’s more shocking than to have your debut novel’s own shelf is that the shelf is empty. They were sold out.

"Yes, yes. It's definitely just a mouse. Just relax." However, Raven felt drawn towards the sound. Cautiously, she stepped closer to a bookshelf that looked a little older than the rest. When her hand touched one of the books, she felt something strange-the book seemed to be attached to something. "Guys... look at this," Raven called softly. They all approached, looking at the book curiously. When Raven pulled it, there was a small click, and suddenly, the bookshelf moved slowly, as if opening a secret door.

The only splashes of colour were my red comforter that lay across the bottom of my bed on top of black and white sheets and pillows and a few red scatter cushions. The absolute best part of the room was my bookshelf. It was an oak log that went from the floor to the ceiling with four corner shelves built around it. The shelves were stacked with books, a couple of decorative candles and a couple of stuffed toys. Beside it was and oversized bean bag chair that was so comfortable I could fall asleep in it while reading. "Not that I'm not happy to see you but why are you here?", I asked him. Brodie had moved over to examine the bookshelf and the titles it housed.

Alie The invitation says Conversation on Story: Building Worlds for Real Life which is the kind of title that makes you feel smart while you drink tea out of a paper cup and pretend the folding chair isn’t a folding chair. The bookstore is small, all honeyed wood and lamps that try to be kind. Someone strung twinkle lights between nonfiction and essays, like stars got cozy in the ceiling.