Open Books Novels & Stories

Micha nodded in understanding and we continued searching through thousands of ancient books. Then we saw it. Another book—this one titled: "WARS OF THE REALMS." We looked at each other, excited. But we braced ourselves, afraid it would be blank like the first. I opened it— And the book didn't open. The cover was iron mixed with wood, heavy and old. I tried again. Nothing. Micha suggested we burn it. Maybe melting the metal would open it. So we threw it in the fire. Nothing. Not a scratch.

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Klark, ‘Tribid Greed’ by Steve Reynolds, and a lot of other books. One by one Trisha returned all the books she'd picked. When she was beginning to get tired and unmotivated, the corner of her eyes perceived a strange book on a shelf not too far from where she was. Its spines were tattered and appeared like spiky wires beneath the poor lighting.

The ladies all giggle and Julie stands, handing a new bookmark to each of us. "Yes. We figured we'd get you ones that suited you a little better." she says. The new one is dark blue with gold lettering that says 'Real men read dirty books'. I smile and look over at Ev who's showing Harper his excitedly. "These are great. Thank you." I say just as Bri nudges me. "Oh! Tell them your joke, love!" Harper says excitedly. Ev rolls his eyes before addressing the group.

With the audience she already had, it didn't take long for curious viewers to flood in. The setting appeared to be her study, packed with medical books, and even her desk was covered in neatly written notes. She held her ground despite the flood of hateful comments. "Does a degree define everything? I may not have one, but my expertise speaks for itself! What truly matters is that I want to save lives. Insult me all you want, but you have no right to question my devotion to medicine!" Suddenly, Kyle appeared on camera, and the hateful comments stopped momentarily. He was there to beg for her help. His clothes were unwashed for days, and he looked utterly disheveled.

I called again, moving toward the door but I got no answer. This guy is not only a nerd, he is also weird and somehow crazy. I wonder how I was going to cope with him when I joined his book club. I grabbed my phone off the table and unlocked it. As the screen popped on, messages flooded in. Group chats messages , especially the ones I've muted for a while now. ‘Arian Smith, Orleans College Book Club President, Accused of Misusing Club Funds.’ I blinked, trying to wake myself from the dream. I scrolled down, read it again and it was still the same.

"Mr. Mattel, dinner's over. You can leave now." Leave? Rowan had no intention of leaving. And it wasn't just for today—he had no intention of leaving at all. He walked over to a pile of books, picked up the notebook sitting right at the top, and crouched down in front of Rowley. "I heard you're interested in finance. This is a summary of my experiences over the years. It'll definitely be helpful to you."

Alizeh: 'I know, but I can't control my laugh! Varun: "I can say this also with that other meaning, but I am not like that na!" Alizeh: "I know that you are not like that, I know it really well knows! by the way when is my book coming!" Varun: "Maybe 23!" Alizeh: "Yayy, I will keep it with me always!" Varun: "You can also keep me with you always!" Alizeh: "I know, you can also keep me!"

And lastly, the books in this section look even older than the ones that Rhode was looking at. I take a closer look at the shelves to see that most of the so-called books are mostly loose papers that are poorly bound. Some look so ancient I worry that the papers will crumble into dust if I touch them. But I pull out a few anyway, sneezing my head off in the process and trying to find something about the silly legend of Udbhava.

There was no chaos, no gossip, no shadows of the past, just him, me, and the kind of quiet that felt like peace. On Sunday, I visited Julien with Oliver. The morning light was soft. Oliver ran off almost immediately to play with the little model jets Julien kept on a shelf, while Julien stood waiting with a mysterious bag in his hand. “It was delivered this morning,” he said, eyes glinting with that boyish secret he could barely hide. “What is it?” I asked, taking the bag. “Open it.” I lifted out a stack of seven hardcover books, sleek, matte, and beautifully bound. Each had a country’s name embossed on the front in gold letters: Tokyo. Italy. Egypt. Cape Town. Dubai. Maldives. Paris.