Feels Like Home Book Novels & Stories

“Home?” I repeated in question. Home. I lived from one orphanage to another. I didn’t really have a permanent place to stay. I was alone but wasn’t lonely. I didn’t have a shelter of my own but I was home. For eighteen years, wherever I went, I was home. At first, I find it weird being comfortable with a new place at an instant, feeling home, but now I know why. It was because home was following me. Home doesn’t refer to a thing with doors and windows. Home is a person or even a ghost. Sadness slowly crept in my system. I just lost that home. Recently, I discovered that I got myself another home, Grip, but I lost them both right after another.

Safety. But now I’m here... it doesn’t feel like home anymore. The house looks the same, but it feels different. Bigger. Quieter. Like I’m standing outside somewhere I used to belong, instead of somewhere that’s mine. 'You’re being ridiculous.' Zanthe huffs at me. 'I bet the training centre will feel like home.' She paces closer in my mind, her tail flicking. 'Home is a feeling anyway, not a place. You just haven’t found it again yet.'

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 ."]

Than pov Well, shit. Coming back home isn’t supposed to feel like this, right? First of all, I don’t feel like home anymore simply because now, it’s in the world of mortals with that beautiful, firefly kitty that has an insane ability to get under my skin every minute of the day. Second, home is ‘supposed’ to be your safe space after a long day of torturous work and responsibilities, not another place where you lose your mind without a good reason.

Why did this feel like a win when I had everything I wanted. Why this felt like home while I had a home away from here?

real. When we step inside, I stop for a second. I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not this. From the outside, the house looked ordinary—tired, even. But inside… It’s warm. Not in a “thermostat” kind of way, but in a way that feels lived in. Safe. Familiar. It’s a home. Not like the Blackwater mansion, where everything gleams, where every pillow is placed for a photo, where every wall color has been “professionally curated to promote serenity.”

My first night away from home was spent on the thin, stiff mattress of a school dorm bed. As I listened to the occasional police sirens passing by outside the window, I actually felt an unprecedented sense of peace. I no longer had to endure being summoned and scolded at any moment, wait on those prized pets, or win over people who never once looked at me with warmth. It was the first time in 20 years I felt like I could really breathe. A few days later, Fabio's name lit up on my phone screen.

My head is too full. I’ve only met three people in this house, and already it feels different. Too different. Not like the homes where I counted the days until I left. Not like the families who smiled for the paperwork and ignored me the rest of the time. Not like the places where I kept my bag packed just in case. This place feels warm. Real. Dangerous. Because warmth means hope. And hope means disappointment. Emily pushes open a door. “This one’s yours.”

The word no longer felt like something distant and unattainable. For the first time it felt like home.

It felt like coffee and newspapers and Deluca washing dishes and Lucia asleep on the couch and Maya coming next month and a lease that was going to be renewed. It felt like the first thing that had ever felt completely right. It felt like home.