Booktok Journal Novels & Stories

As she’s about to leave the room, someone called. “Hey, I’m leaving the hotel. My car service is waiting,” she talked to the person on the other line. “I can’t wait to see you here. We’ve so much to see and talk about,” Noah said. Cela gave her room one final look. This is the place where she leaves her old self. “We wanted to go to a specific place and it didn’t matter if the road was rough and the journey was long. In the end, we found different places for ourselves but these places were the destinations where we were truly meant to go,” she said to herself. The fourth book begins at chapter 1 in Paris. The End.

Which was exactly what I did when I filled the leather journal. At the end of March-between the bookstore and counseling-I finished what I'd been working on. I'd painstakingly chosen every word and line that now stared back at me from the pages in black ink and my crummy handwriting. I read through it, happy with how I'd conveyed something so personal and private, yet sad to remember just how morose I'd been when I arrived in the Golden State. Dr. Sarratt thumbed through it during our next session. I spent most of that hour biting my fingernails, waiting for him to respond to what he'd read. Five minutes before our time was up, he pushed the book across his desk.

I announced, injecting a note of reassurance into the room. Trevor, sensing a lull in the urgency, reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn journal. He gestured towards me, saying, "Since we have a bit of time, my father wanted you to read this book. He said it's better you know the things that were written in it." Curiosity piqued, I took the journal from Trevor's outstretched hand. The weight of the worn pages hinted at the significance of its contents. As I opened it, the musty scent of aged paper wafted into the air, adding a layer of authenticity to the moment.

Our bedroom became a place to rest instead of a place to brace ourselves. I bought a journal in March at a bookstore near the foundation offices. Nothing fancy, just a simple leather-bound notebook. That night after the kids were asleep, I sat at the kitchen table and wrote about our life. The mundane, ordinary moments that felt like gifts. Monte is losing his first tooth and putting it under his pillow with such ceremony. Sophia refused to wear anything but her princess costume for three days straight. Four burning pancakes on Saturday morning and Monte telling him it was okay because they tasted good anyway.

Now that I’d mostly learned how to translate his crappy handwriting, I was able to slowly pick my way through it. The first page described him… Writing a book? My gaze jerked back to the spare room and then dipped back to the journal to keep reading. The next few pages were about his pack buddies and his family. He seemed close to them. Then his book was mentioned again. Insurrection. I dropped the journal again, and crossed the hallway yet another time, stopping in front of the bookshelf. My eyes scanned the many, many books, until… Insurrection. Bingo. I grabbed the paperback off the shelf, and my eyes scanned the cover. It had a snake and a skull and looked kind of epic, definitely someth

Her aunt gives her a small smile and nods, Celine finds the bookmark and opens to the page. The woven bookmark has a faded blue tassel and was made of woven threads depicting wolves running in a forest, at the bottom of the bookmark was an old wolf’s tooth with a hole drilled through to be able to tie it onto the bookmark. She puts it to one side to look at the page it had been marking. It looked much like many of the others she had seen flipping through. But its words had her feeling like her world was slipping through her fingers and she was unable to do anything to stop it.

But she… didn’t flinch. Lena walked over to a little table display and picked up a thin, cloth-bound book. She walked over to him, holding it out like an offering. *The Quiet Between Lightning Strikes.* A poetry book. The cover was old and nubbly, the title scribbled in fine silver ink. Julian stared at it like it was an alien thing. "What's this?" "A book," she said, smiling. "I told you. I don't—"

Free. Beautiful. It felt like he'd captured a moment even I didn’t know was special. The thumping of my heart was almost overwhelming. Beneath the frame lay a small leather-bound journal. My fingers brushed across its cover before opening it. The first page was handwritten, his script neat but bold: Things to know before your wolf comes. The title alone made my throat tighten. I turned the page, reading a few lines. They weren’t from a textbook. They were personal and practical.

Realizing that I'm clenching too hard at the side of the frame, I loosen my fingers. The leather bound book catches my attention next and when I take it and get a closer look at it. I immediately realized it’s a journal. My mom’s journal? I flip it open.

I stripped my jacket off when I got into my room, loosening my cuffs as I headed straight for the bathroom, getting into the shower. After having a quick bath, I wrapped a towel around my waist, pausing just when I saw the safe. I hadn’t opened it in days. I considered ignoring it. Then I walked over, keyed in the code, and pulled it open. The journal sat exactly where I left it, and flipped to the page I had marked. Day 80 I need a book boyfriend. Who’d pin me down and make sure I can take it, even when I can’t. ~C I stared at it for a second. Laughing so hard the sound surprised even me, as it echoed lightly in the bathroom.