How To Get Cigarette Smell Out Of A Book Novels & Stories

“Sorry, but I’m coming in.'' Nolan entered Venessa’s room in haste. He holds a book that seems to be on its deathbed since the pages are slipping out from the book and every one of them looks ancient. A weird smell is spreading from that book that makes others puke. How old that book can be! Venessa nods her head and says, “What’s that in your hand?”She is holding her nose to prevent herself from smelling the odour. “This is the answer to everything that has happened so far. I had a doubt, but didn’t realise I could pin on it easily.”Nolan hands the book to Venessa who first rejects to take it because of the smell but then carefully receives it. Some pages slipped while they were exchanging.

The smell in the library was distinctive. Bobby entered the room and immediately detected the invigorating aroma of fresh ideas coming from the books that were waiting to be read. The antiquated aroma of old book pages, the unread books on the shelves, and the aroma of dust coming from those books, a meal that students brought to the library. Students wearing cologne and perfume as they walked next to him, students sweating from participating in sports, and other smells ranging from pleasant to repulsive. He quickly became depressed once the distinct aroma of unwashed clothes and cigarette smoke entered his nose. The library was alive with all these different smells when they were combined.

"I am a consultant." "Same thing. Just... do it fast. Before I throw up." Cale didn't do it fast. He did it perfectly. He sliced the tape along the seam with a single, fluid motion. No jagged edges. No wasted movement. He opened the flaps. He pulled away the crumpled brown packing paper. The smell hit them instantly. New paper. Ink. Glue. The smell of permanence. Cale reached in. He lifted a book out. It was heavy.

Placing one in my mouth I light it before putting the pack and lighter away. Taking in a breath I feel the smoke travel through my chest before blowing it out through my lips. Picking up my book I begin reading as well, after a little while I get knocked out of my trance by the sound of the bell ringing loudly causing me to groan. Getting off the edge, I put out my now finished cigarette by rubbing it into the ground with my heal. Heading downstairs I go back to my locker grabbing the rest of the work I need for the other half of my classes.

I had been perceiving it ever since I walked into the room. Gertrude left the room immediately, while I was left with Rex, who was looking for a piece of paper to draft a letter with. He knocked over a stack of books on his table, and it crashed on the floor. The scent became stronger, making me go back in to help him pick up the books, The moment I bent down the scent hit me hard. It was a tacky, floral aroma, that had caused me sleepless nights. I traced the source and picked up the book; it was a scented, linen-bound, and hand-stitched notebook.

For a long second I just watched it—tiny, bright, perfect—before bringing it to my book and setting the corner alight. We dropped mine beside his. The can filled with a small, savage heat; pages curled and blackened, smoke ribboning up toward the ceiling. The room smelled like burnt ink and something electric—like we’d actually crossed a line and come out the other side grinning. Carter sauntered to the window and pushed it open, the night air slicing in cool and clean. “Yeah,” he said, eyes on the glow in the trash. “We definitely don’t want the fire department crashing our party.” He flashed a grin that was equal parts thrill and dare.

A single tear trickled down my left cheek and I immediately wiped it off, pulling the letter open again to read the content. “Such an old fashioned man. He could have just emailed this..” I hissed as I jumped down from my bed, picked up a burning candle from my dresser and held the letter over it outside my balcony. After it burned to ashes, I took out my box of calming incense and lit it to mask the smell of burnt paper. Wiping my hands on my robe, I climbed back into my bed and pulled my duvet over.

My heart leaped with hope as I approached the section, quickly pulling out a few volumes. “Well, here goes nothing,” I murmured to myself, selecting a particularly dusty tome. The book was heavy and worn, its cover adorned with faded gold lettering. I wiped away the dust and carefully opened it, the pages crackling softly in the silence. The satisfying scent of aged paper filled my nostrils, evoking a sense of ancient wisdom and forgotten knowledge.

The air around the room was thin – breathing deeply was hard. Leah sniffed something that caught on her nose. “Do you smell that?”, she walks around, trying to find the source of the smell. “It’s getting stronger.” She crouches down and snuffs through the almost empty shelves. Placing her hand on one of the shelves – she looked through it and saw one book that was left standing oddly than the rest. She raised her brow, “A lever perhaps?”