Novel & Cerita Just Open Up Like A Page In A Book

My birth wasn't mentioned, the same as my death. When I was on the verge of giving up on reading, I took a last glance at the book and sighed. I closed the book, stood up, and got ready to sleep. Then, the book opened itself. It was a moment of 'didn't I close this book?' I paced around at short distances, took note of the page and closed it again. I glared at the book till I was on my bed and the book never opened - maybe it is my illusion.

It was like a whole new world had been opened up to me, and I couldn't wait to explore it further. With that in mind, I took a deep breath and picked up the book once again, ready to continue my exploration into the ancient secrets it held.I hesitantly touched the cover of the ancient leather-bound book, trying to shake off the flashes of memory that kept playing in my mind. I slowly opened it, my heart racing with anticipation and trepidation, I was awed by the intricate designs in the pages that slowly revealed themselves.

We'll try it and if that still doesn't get the book open, then I'll just take it that the book doesn't want us to see what's inside. I touch Kayden's hands and try to demonstrate to him that the both of us should try to open it together. He nodded his consent. We both tried to open the book together, our hearts in our throats and shockingly, the book opened easily just like any other book but the light that shone as the book opened up was almost blinding. Kayden and I looked away, trying to protect our eyes from the blinding light. As if we hadn't already gotten enough surprises in that moment, the book talked.

I need to process and just have a minute to breathe. I turn the books the right way up and try to slide them back into the shelves silently when the title of the first catches my eye and stops me pushing it in. It’s a psychology textbook about his personality condition and I impulsively tip it sideways to let the pages flip open for a quick nosey. That part of me that is eager to know more about what it means in terms of him as a person kicking in. I scan the words eagerly, desperate for more insight.

“It doesn’t feel like something you visit. It feels like something that keeps you.” Her fingers slipped under the page— —and she opened the diary to the next story.

"I need you to open your eyes then. You don't have to look at me, just open your eyes." ************ Note: Don't forget to like, comment and share the book! This really helps it grow on the platform

He will refuse to read it. Ayden said to her, trying to make her understand what it means to vote serious and calm at the same time: The book is just like the soul, if he feels you crying and wants you to read it, he will open it for you for sure. But if the book does not want you to read it, it will never open for you, no matter what you do, and you will not be able to open it or read it in any way. This is the nature of books here and here and you will get used to it later. A book is just like a person to know what's inside it likes to let you do this first, otherwise you'll never know no matter how hard you try.

“Do you have somewhere in the house that is private?” “Mack, I think you came to the right place.” Haven laughed, and she looked at him with a smile. She took his hand and started walking to the back of the house. When he walked into the furthest room in the house, he thought something was slightly off about the room, but he couldn’t figure it out. When she walked to the sidewall, though, she moved the book on the bookshelf, and soon there was a door that was open, and she was pulling it open.

⸻ 🌙 The Lost Pages The book slowly opened. 📖 ⸻ Its pages fluttered wildly. ⸻ Most were empty. ⸻ Destroyed. ⸻ Gone forever. ⸻ Yet one page remained intact. ⸻ One final page. ⸻ One hidden page. ⸻ A page nobody had ever seen before. ⸻ The page that existed before Memory Zero. ⸻ 😨 ⸻ 🌙 Before The First Question The page glowed softly. ✨ ⸻

Boring, predictable, exactly what I'd expect from a man who treated feelings like a liability. A leather-bound book sat tucked behind a row of finance texts on the lowest shelf. I pulled it out without thinking much about it. The cover had no title. Just worn leather, soft from years of handling, a small dent across the spine like it had been dropped a hundred times and picked back up just as many. I opened it. My own face stared back at me. Page after page. My jaw, my hands, the curve of my neck, details I didn't even know anyone had noticed about me, let alone bothered to capture in pencil with this much care.