Novel & Cerita Notebook

She looked at me. Her words made me speechless. How can I answer her when I haven't found it yet? He was there. He didn't meet her. Is it because of the spat between us? Sometimes this little girl makes me feel speechless. "Well, Keep that tab. Don't know what kind of books you read!" I tried to get the tab from her hands but she pulled it back. "It's the notebook" She pouted. "It's Ipad" I corrected her. "No no, the book's name is The Notebook. Ryan Gosling is in the film. I like him"

The small click of the notebook ring when she turned the page was as grounding as a deep breath. Not inward. Not away. Just closer. Lists. Lines. Timelines. What could be touched, measured, and corrected. She opened her notebook to the next clean page and let the pen move in straight strokes that did not wobble, even when her wrist wanted to. Her fingers smelled faintly of lemon sanitizer and graphite. She pressed harder than she needed to, as if the act could anchor her to the present.

Bingo. It was tucked in the back, nearly forgotten, soft leather worn and cracked at the spine. An old contacts notebook. Her brother still used it,.one of his paranoid habits. No digital footprint, no traceable text. Just names and numbers in his sharp handwriting, organized by territory, by favor, by danger. She flipped through quickly, fingers trembling, heart pounding like it wanted out of her chest. And then she saw it. Lombardi, R. Just an initial and the number burned into the yellowing paper in crisp black ink.

It felt like hours that she sat there on the bed and looked at the laptop. It was her favorite color, red. The thing had more RAM than her desktop, and the seventeen-inch screen was nice compared to the smaller one she had. As she looked it over, she noticed that it had a sticky note on the screen. She clicked on it and smiled. Dearest Majesta, Work hard, but play harder. Enjoy your new toy. I hope it is what you wanted. Check out the books that I had loaded. They are under Books, in the documents.

The cover was a plain, academic shade of navy—serious and subdued, the kind of thing Marken, with his fastidious nature, would’ve chosen for recording research or classified observations. But something didn’t sit right. Alexander’s brows furrowed. A flicker of suspicion darted across his eyes as he pulled out his phone and called Colton. “The missing notebook… Was it more feminine-looking? Something like a softer color?” Alexander asked, tapping the edge of the notebook against his palm. “Yeah. Light blue with floral trim, if I remember right. Why? Did you find it?” Colton responded. “No,” Alexander replied curtly and ended the

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.

“Pencil’s smudged left to right,” Nico murmurs, pointing at Steven’s notebook, which holds who-knows-what. “Frequently happens in leftie bookkeeping.” “Iris is right-handed,” Christian murmurs. He sits up then, handing the notebook to Nico, who explores it further. “Just because you didn’t write it,” Nico says, looking at me over the notebook’s edge, “why should I believe you haven’t seen it?” “What!?” I gasp, leaning forward and staring between Nico and Christian, shocked again that they still don’t believe me. “I don’t know what it is! I wish I didn’t have it! That tiny

Before I run my fingers across the books, I notice that there is a notebook specially kept. This notebook has a leather cover and looks different from other items in this room. I do not know why, but I can sense that it is a precious thing for its owner and it is well-kept. I really want to open it. Maybe because I am a human, a curious human. But my fear controls me not to open the notebook. Otherwise, I will be killed by Mr. Barnett, the owner of the notebook.

The rest would be known to the police. With the box in hand, I untie the ties of the gift and a notebook appeared in the box. I should have been a little more careful when opening. I didn't know if it could be another weapon. Even a bomb. It could be something chemical that would hurt me or poison me to the point of going to the hospital. But it was just a black leather notebook, with nothing on its cover or spine. It was very thin, with maybe no more than ten leaves. And it wasn't big or uncomfortable to keep in one hand. It was the pattern of a notebook or a diary. I took the

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I know that Shiloh is starting to take action as he was so in range when the last time they attacked the Cravens manor. Well, I know that Shiloh wouldn't care about the attack if they didn't muddle his garden of roses. I picked up the notebook that is placed above the shelves. It looks like this one has been serving its purpose for a long time. I opened it and I can't understand the words that are written in this notebook. There are sketches and explanations, a scientific explanation to be precise and I know that this one is all about the experimentation that they are doing right now. It looks like they are planning this for a l