Living In The Present Books Novels & Stories

I nodded. “Now get out of here and get to work. Tomorrow morning you will be born in the Joseon period in the house of a farmer.”, he said. I looked at him and I was about to ask something when he motioned for me to leave. And here I thought I was of some importance to him! I left his magnificent room with the huge pile of books and went to my chamber. Two hours had passed, and I was still on book one. What boring work to do. While I was busy complaining, Ethan knocked.

You spent money on it ʘ‿ʘ It makes my day. If you're into a fast paced enemies to lovers, then you might want to check out my new book "A VOW TO HATE" I assure you, it's splended. Thank you for reading! So much love from my end, C.

Maybe from here, my life would settle down. _ _ _ I hope you enjoyed this first book! Book two is out now!! So be sure to look out for: "Goddess Diaries"

People who are curious about what comes after survival and transformation. I stand at the podium and I look out at the crowd and I think about why I wrote this book. I begin reading. "This is a book about what comes after. Not what comes after surviving. That's the first book. This is what it looks like to exist in the life you've earned through decades of work. This is what it looks like to love someone for so long that the love becomes invisible because it's so woven into who you are." I read chapters about ordinary moments. I read about the garden and making coffee together and the specific grace of knowing that you chose well. I read about aging and about the way that time transforms you

I said. "Which one?" he said. I thought about it. "No specific one," I said. "Just — the next one. Whatever it is." I looked at him. "I think we're in it now. The actual living of it. Not the building toward. The being in." He looked at me. "Yes," he said. "I think so too." I reached across the island and put my hand on his and the kitchen held us and the night held the kitchen and the city continued below, ordinary and ongoing and full of its own ten million separate stories, and ours was one of them, small and specific and entirely ours.

This was quieter. More durable. Arrival, she realized, was not a place you reached. It was a posture. A way of standing in your life without flinching. Without bracing for loss. Without rehearsing defense. They had arrived not because everything was perfect. But because nothing was unresolved in a way that demanded flight. They had arrived because the past no longer reached forward. Because the future no longer felt like a threat. Because the present was enough. As sleep claimed her, Lillian felt no pull to hurry time.

"I need to come home and home is where you are." I blush and hide my face in his chest. He is my home too and I cannot bear homelessness. ________________________________________________________________________ In case you guys did not notice, this chapter is in the present tense because everything that happened before was recounted by Rayne and Adrian, but now they're telling us what they're going through step by step. I hope you're enjoying this book so far :)

No matter how heavy the face of the sky, morning comes like morning. Manorama is sleeping. Seeing the clock, Anushka woke up. There is no noise in the head tin, that means it is not raining outside. Although the room is still dark and the lamp is burning evenly. Silently opening the door, she opened it with careful hands. There is no night but the day has not come.

She had been thinking about this for months, had arrived at versions of the answer that were true but incomplete, and she sat now in the October morning with the garden outside and the household moving around her in its daily rhythms and she tried to arrive at the version that was both true and complete. She wrote: This is a book about what happens when people choose to stay. It is about a child who stopped speaking because the world became too large and too quiet at the same time, and about the adults around him who had to learn to be present in a new way before he could come back. It is about grief as a form of love that has not yet found its new shape, and about the particular courage of

She sat in the kitchen with his hand in hers and she thought about a Tuesday in February that had not happened yet, a Tuesday she could not have known was coming, and she thought about how the readiness she had found tonight had nothing to do with anything she had planned or prepared or organised. It was simply there, accumulated across five years of the right work, the daily specific work of being present in her own life and in the lives of the people she loved, and it was available to her now, fully available, in the way that things were available when you had stopped spending all your energy on the management of the distance between yourself and them. She was ready because she was here. T