My Quiet Book Novels & Stories

Not now, not after everything. Lina flipped through a final set of pages in the old book, and I watched her lips move as she read the words silently. The quiet of the room seemed deafening. The sound of my breathing, the boys’ occasional shifts of weight, and the soft rustling of Lina’s pages were the only things that broke the silence.

THE SOUND OF HIS RETURN When I get home, everything feels too quiet. The house is calm, but not in a peaceful way , it’s quiet . The door clicks shut behind me, echoing through the apartment like a reminder that I’m alone again. The faint smell of Daniel’s cologne still lingers somewhere in the air, mixed with coffee and dust. The curtains are half-drawn, letting thin bands of sunlight cut across the living room floor. My shoes come off with a dull thud, My heels scrape softly against the tiled floor as I step inside. I stand there for a second, just breathing, trying to make the world stop spinning. The guilt in my chest hasn’t left , it’s grown, swelling, pressing against my ribs until I c

It’s quiet here… It’s always quiet in here, but not the kind that feels abandoned, empty. Just settled, I mean a bookstore shouldn’t be noisy either, so being used to the kind of quiet that sits comfortably in your chest instead of pressing against it is kind of my normal. We get a few regulars enough to keep the lights on, enough to remind me the place still matters to people other than me.

•|•|• "A keffer? Do not speak of those curses unless you wished to be cursed yourself." •|•|• [Kayos] Peace and Quiet. The darkness was my home and I reveled in the quietness that accompanied the midnight as I casually flipped through the book I was reading in the dark. Despite having no candle light to see, I was quite able to read the words as clear as if it where day, only looking up when the door suddenly opened.

Emma stepped into the bookstore like she was entering a chapel. The bell above the door chimed softly, and the familiar scent of old pages and new bindings wrapped around her like a blanket. Jake and Lila followed behind her, their footsteps quiet on the wooden floors. A table near the entrance displayed the new releases. Front and center, stacked in neat rows, was her book. The Language of Quiet. Her name below the title shimmered faintly in the morning light streaming through the windows.

The frantic gleam in her eyes can mean only one thing, and I frown. She squeaks with glee as Alessandro takes the book, and my theory is confirmed. Oh, lord. The nighttime zoomies are upon us. “Remember Anne, it’s quiet time now,” I say in a low, soothing voice. “I remember! Quiet time!” she shrieks. “Your choices are to be quiet now and listen to your book, or to wait until you’re ready to be quiet, when you can read your book.” Controlled choice is a lifesaver. Anne ponders her options. “Be quiet now,” she whispers, her eyes darting to Brady.

He simply gave a small, shy smile and took a slight, graceful bow. ​For the first time in his life, the silence wasn't a prison he was locked inside it was a choice he was making. It was a space he owned. And as the neighborhood erupted into applause, the sound washing over him like a warm tide, Tobi realized that while he might always be "The Quiet One," his heart would always be the loudest, most vibrant thing in the room.

Life is harsh at times but family, friends and loved ones are all you need. And to think it all started with the quiet girl from school. The quiet girl that we once bullied then she turned into the most important woman in our lives. We love her so much and always will. My quiet girl who is now my not so quiet woman. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen and I know she always will be. Her laugh, her blush and her cute giggle are what I love the most and so do the guys. Alexis smiles at us as we play with the kids and make them laugh. Scott sits beside her and I pat his shoulder, getting a smile.

"The blur is gone." The quiet was a good quiet. The inhabited quiet. The two of them at the kitchen table with cold tea and the commission drawings at the other end and the lamp making its circle and the north wall shelves holding their books and the field guide in its place and all of it — all of it — exactly what it was supposed to be.

Alan There is a moment between dying and not dying where everything is perfectly quiet. Not the quiet of sleep, not the quiet of a room with the door shut and the world locked out. Something else entirely. Something so deep and complete that calling it quiet felt wrong, felt like the wrong word for a thing that had no word, because it was not the absence of sound…it was the absence of everything, and it was not terrifying the way I had always imagined it would be. It was a relief.