My Quiet Book Novels & Stories

“Sometimes the greatest gifts are built in silence, yet they speak louder than words ever could.” Ellie sat in the vast library of Merchetti Mansion, a book open on her lap though she barely read the words. The quiet of the room, the scent of old leather and polished wood, offered a rare moment of peace she seldom allowed

Elara didn't know how long she'd been walking.Her legs moved on their own now, one foot in front of the other. She couldn't feel her toes anymore. The cold had eaten through her worn boots, and her dress was still damp from crossing the river. The forest around her was **quiet**. Too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of her own ragged breathing and the soft crunch of snow beneath her feet. She stumbled over a root and fell hard onto her knees. Pain shot through her legs, but she barely felt it. Everything hurts now. Her hands. Her back. Her heart.

Then she began. She read a passage from the first chapter—about the quiet kind of pain that teaches you how to disappear: “There are wounds so silent they make noise only you can hear. You smile in rooms that feel too loud, nod through conversations where your name feels foreign. You start to shrink without realizing it, folding yourself into corners like paper left out in the rain. And one day, you look in the mirror and wonder when you became so quiet, so good at not being seen.” Then a passage from the middle—about learning how to stay:

Her childish voice echoed in his mind even now, but the person who had said those words was gone. Those soothing words now felt like sharp daggers, cutting into his heart. Terrified and trembling to his core, he realized he was truly alone. When Henley climbed onto the windowsill, he felt a strange sense of peace. He wanted to see Joanna again, to feel her stroke his hair and softly tell him she was still there. The rain poured all night. When Henley woke up the next day, he thought he had already died. However, when warm sunlight touched his body, he realized he was still alive.

Yes, I do. And so I lastly want to give out my thanks for all your support and then ask for your continuous gifts and gems. Although my review section has been a little lonely lately (⁠ ⁠⚈̥̥̥̥̥́⁠⌢⁠⚈̥̥̥̥̥̀⁠) Let's raise the algorithm of "HIS SILENT VOICE" together and stay tuned because we are about to dive into the second half of our story. And with that, Author Autumn signs out. Thank you, love you all(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥

K A I D A The library is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes my own breathing feel too loud, the rustle of pages unnatural. The scent of old parchment and ink fills my nose as I sit cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by stacks of books I barely understand.

he weakly uttered as he sniffled softly. Kelvin pulled the birthday boy into a hug. "You're welcome. You're happy, right?" Kinsley nodded vigorously in response. "Good." The older boy chuckled. From a distance, by one of the windows of the school building, someone is gritting his teeth. "Tsk. He's too happy and crying over an effing phone,” he muttered. * * * "The great deaf is here!" One young werewolf announced as Kinsley entered a large room for the monthly meeting of the aspiring hunters, trackers, and warriors, even healers of the pack. The pack members in this group are ages twelve to seventeen, who will soon be given their rank.

“The Librarian is holding a stack of books for me. If you don’t mind grabbing them for me.” She scurried around for a second before she turned behind her. “Give me…just a moment…” The she-wolf disappeared for a moment from behind the desk. I waited and looked around at the quiet library. There were a couple of college kids and a group of older wolves crowded around a table. But it was so quiet, and it made me feel a little better. Quiet was always better. Both Emmett and Raine hated the quiet, but I thrived in it. I could pick up any sound and easily was able to move if I needed to.

Something was wrong, Apple never let her phone ring for that long, let alone not answer it. I rapidly got up and wore my old torn sneakers then pulled my puffer jacket which was hung on the chair and walked out. I headed for the front door and pulled it open but I was surprised by who I saw at the other side. “I brought your text book” he began. It was Sorrow, Sorrow Haze. He was right before me with my History textbook along with my sketchbook on his hands. I rapidly snatched them both from his hands

A little whisper of an echo darting through the darkness. Both of us tensed, our wolves alert and ears scanning for any trace of sound. Staying quiet was one of the lines in the poem, but we had no other way to communicate. Quiet did not mean silent, and I wondered if we might get away with lowering our voices. A musty smell wafted through the shelves; it smelled of dust, bones, and dry leather. It wasn’t the most disgusting thing I had smelled, but was bad enough to make Helena and I wrinkle our noses. I pointed towards the unending rows of bookshelves.