Novel & Cerita Note Book Buku Kecil

Nothing could bring Catherine back. The notebooks had been neatly labeled by month and year, which made them easy enough to locate. There were two of them, both with dark green covers, their mottled spines worn where silverfish had chewed away at the edges. I carried them downstairs to the study, switched on the light, and began to read. The pages were A4, ruled with precision, each entry marked with the date and time in the margin. Assessment details, observations, medical notes—everything carefully recorded.

I waved both of my hands, hoping she would know that I am grateful. "Oh right, I forgot..." She said before she reached in to the front pocket of her pink apron. The woman pulled out a pink mini notebook with a snap button and a small pen tucked in the gap of the strap. "Here." She said as she offered me the notebook. Accepting the book with both of my hands, I looked down at it with confusion. "I thought it might come in handy. Besides it's small enough to fit in to a wide pocket so you can carry it anywhere." The woman said.

He was watching them too. Then he looked at me. I looked back at my notebook. Very normal. Very fine. "You always carry that thing everywhere?" he asked. I looked up. He was still looking at me. "The notebook?" He nodded once. "Pretty much," I said. "What do you write in it?" I blinked. That wasn't a question I expected. "Notes," I said carefully. "For class mostly. And sometimes other things." "Like what?" "Just… thoughts." He looked at the notebook for a second.

The seventeenth notebook opened in January. She has been noting this in the annual reviews since the third: how many notebooks have been filled, at what pace, and what the pace says about the year. The seventeenth notebook opened in January and will close, she estimates, in February of next year — a shorter year than most, which means the writing was denser rather than less frequent. The third book required a different kind of attention than the briefs and the annual reviews; the notebook this year has more thinking and less reporting.

The pages were all blank. What the hell? Was it a notebook? I thought, taking my lips in, even as my eyes caught a tiny black pen which was attached to its lock. "A note it is..." I muttered, keeping the book back. I will return to it whenever I need to write down a story, or jot down my feelings. I traced the books on the second shelf, stopped at a small blue book. It looked like a novel, exactly what I was looking for. From the inscriptions on the width of some of the books, they were history books, although some were written in some other foreign language.

Was there any other thing that she could have said? Luca nodded with a smile too. “That is great. I am in a bit of a hurry, but I brought you something that I think could be of help to you,” he said, and pulled a small notebook from his pocket. Natalie creased her brows as she looked at the book. “What is it?“ She asked. But the more she looked at the book, the dizzier she began to feel. Luca helped her put the notebook into her pockets. “You don't have to go through it now,” he said. “It is something you valued so much in your childhood. Go through it later on, okay?“

It was the kind of store that felt personal, like someone had actually thought about every single thing on the shelves instead of just filling them with whatever was on sale. I could see leather journals, nice pens and those little desk things that looked both useful and pretty. Maya picked up a notebook bound in dark brown leather. "What about this? Simple. Classic. Won't make anyone's voice go weird." I took it from her. The leather was smooth and warm in my hands. The pages inside were thick, the kind that make writing feel important even if you're just making a grocery list. "He writes things down," I said slowly. "Lists. Plans. Stuff for work. Stuff for us. He has this little notebook h

"You don't have any clothing in there? You have an entire bag for stationary?" "I need my notebooks," I reply defensively. I twist my lips at him in annoyance. Who is he to challenge my life? But then again, we're in this together. So maybe he should have a say? I dismiss the thought outright. Fuck that. I pick up my favorite notebook, a 300 page pink and white "monstrosity" as Emma calls it. It's gorgeous really, shades of pink crossing it with white flowers and rhinestones scattered over it.

Looking at the photo where even the slender umbilical cord was clear, Gyeong-shin’s heart throbbed. Small cells barely 2 cm long had grown into living beings over 6 cm. She held the maternal handbook tightly to her chest as if it were the most precious treasure in the world, then carefully tucked it between the pages of her notebook for fear of it getting crumpled. Come to think of it, this was the 'Future Notebook' she had written herself and kept in her bag when she was hospitalized last month. Lotto numbers for late April, titles of mega-hit songs to be released in specific periods... And as if scrolling down, Gyeong-shin’s fingertips stopped at one particular passage.

And sitting on the far desk, neatly tucked between two architectural models, is something that definitely doesn’t belong. A small, familiar yellow notebook. My chest tightens. I know this notebook. Because it’s mine. Or at least, it was. I walk toward it slowly, as if approaching too fast will make it disappear. I reach out and carefully pick it up, my fingers brushing the worn edges. I flip it open. My handwriting stares back at me. It’s from three years ago, filled with my old notes—ideas, sketches, random bits of code I had scribbled down. I had thought I lost it when we split up.