Louise Carmen Notebook Novels & Stories

" And the one after that, and ones after that. Margaret sat back. Looked at the notebook. She'd come to the penthouse expecting nothing. She'd found a contract. She'd also found a notebook full of small careful observations written by a man who catalogued everything and had apparently been cataloguing her, Liora. She closed the notebook. Looked at the laptop on the desk. The screen was dark. She touched the trackpad and it woke up to an open document. No title. Just text. She read it.

she whispered, “that maybe we were never supposed to find each other?” Carson’s reply came like a vow: “No. I think we were the only ones who could.” Later that night, Justina found herself in Sloane’s old study—one of the few rooms in the penthouse Carson never touched. Dust covered the mahogany shelves, the scent of old paper and faded perfume lingering in the air. She ran her fingers along the spines of books until one caught her eye: a journal, bound in cracked leather. Inside, in neat, slanted handwriting, were Sloane’s notes.

" This stays in my possession for now on miss Jennifer. I grab her notebook with my other hand and release her wrist by putting it into my briefcase and close it. The class ends and I went to my home. I lie down on my bed, the quietness falling upon the house as I switched the TV off. I keep my soft and dim light lamp on my nightstand at my right, turned on, to be able to see through the room. I take hold on of the notebook I confiscated from her..... this girl who keeps on haunting my mind, my thoughts, and my time, this one who I cannot stop myself from thinking about every second of my days or even nights. I cease torturing my head and heart with her but open the notebook, simple cover, s

I have read her notebooks. I want to note for the record that the notebooks are extraordinary documents. Not because they are polished — they are not polished, they are the private notes of a person thinking things through, and there are places where the thinking is incomplete and places where she contradicts herself and places where she is clearly working toward something she hasn't found yet. But they are extraordinary because they are honest. She wrote what she actually thought. She did not perform her certainty. She recorded her uncertainty alongside her understanding and treated both with the same seriousness. The last entry in the fourth notebook is dated six days before she died.

This felt like a position, somewhere you went to wait for something specific, knowing it would come. She opened the notebook. The first page had dates and observations in her mother's shorthand, covering fourteen months of movement through the hill territory. The middle section had maps, more detailed than the one from the cache. On the last written page was something different in tone — not addressed to anyone, in present tense, like notes made in the middle of thinking. She read three lines before Lucien appeared at her shoulder, close enough to read, far enough to be asking rather than assuming, and she tilted the notebook so he could see.

Carmen never used to like diary books and thought that they were stupid, reminding you of the reality you want to escape from. Tears fell down her cheeks as she was reading it. 'As you are reading this, you perhaps already know that I left or I am on my way to the airport now. My plane flies at 10 pm. I don't honestly know where I am going and why. But always remember that I'll forever support you. We'll talk daily, please don't cry. I miss you already. Happy birthday again.' As she finished, a sound of a car was heard. Carmen rushed to her bedroom's window and stared outside. It was Liam!

I think it's a smart idea to check Azura's piano a few hours after the party. She might not have hidden anything in her room, but she could have stashed things elsewhere. I discover a notebook beneath the piano's lid, tucked amidst the strings so it doesn't obstruct the keys. It's the perfect lead. Azura has meticulously documented her notes from Dorothy's books on the pages, filling the journal from beginning to end. It even includes the locations of the plants she wrote about in her journal.

I dropped the pillow case, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips as I looked at the pile of books beside the bed. Clearly, she had just brought them out of wherever they had been before. I picked up the book on top and glanced at it before dropping. Soon, I found myself going through the pile of books with no particular interest until I got to the last book. It was a small notebook and a winky emoji had been badly drawn on it. Definitely Caramia's. I picked the notebook up and flipped it open. The moment I did so, the smile on my face faded into something else.

Satisfied she was alone, she reached into the mattress and pulled out a small, plain black notebook. With trembling hands, she flipped it open and began to write frantically, her expression shifting between guilt, longing, and raw fear. When she finally stopped, she closed the notebook with a sigh and carefully slid it back under the mattress, concealing it from sight. Soren’s curiosity ignited instantly. He immediately picked up his phone and called the head of his security team. “Retrieve that notebook from the suite tonight while she’s asleep. Do it quietly and bring it to me.” Two hours later, one of his men delivered the small black notebook in a sealed envelope. Soren waited until he w

Thursday brings the larger notebook. It arrives by post, a proper package, carefully wrapped, the specific care of someone who ordered something important and wanted it to arrive intact. Théo opens it at the communal table after breakfast with the focused attention he gives all things that matter, removing the wrapping without tearing it, which is a habit that Celeste told me he has had since childhood and which she considers evidence of a temperament that respects the effort behind things. The notebook is dark green, larger than the previous ones, with a heavier cover and pages that are thick enough to absorb both ink and pressure without bleeding through. He opens it. He runs his hand acro