My Quiet Book Novels & Stories

I joked as I motioned to the couple in the photo. Sierra giggled and nodded at me. The hush that followed was deafening. We're not talking to each other; we're just staring at nothing while experiencing each other's presence. However, the quiet is unexpectedly not uncomfortable, as I have previously shared with many people, strangers or not. This silence with Sierra is soothing and relaxing. Why does she almost feels at home? "... So, what is your favorite book genre?" I could feel her breath in my arms. I'm sitting straight next to her, my backrest on the wall, hugging her crossed legs, her back slightly bent, her head tilted towards my arms.

"This hotel belongs to your uncle?" Nodding, he pillowed his head and lay on the floor, giving a click to the remote he held. The vault switched to a transparent top. "Here is where I speak to the silence, blame the world, and shed my tears." That somehow dimmed the glow hopping on her hand. She took a seat next to him. Under the soothing lights, his sharp facial features stood out even more, and so did his bottled loneliness. She understood the familiar silence. It was whispering, yearning to be heard after years of being ignored.

There were beasts where they went to look for them. Things that were fashioned in the likeness of the night. They never showed their faces under the glow of the sun. So it was hard to tell that anything lived here. The island was so quiet, even birds were absent. No insects creaked, and no tree was brave enough to wave their branches for there was no wind to stir up their courage, and neither did they lose a leaf to the ground for nothing decayed here. Everywhere was tidy. The grass was well-trimmed.

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.

"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.