Quiet Study Space Novels & Stories

“Ugh, I have Calculus right now. You’re so lucky you have a study hall. See you at lunch?” I nod my head and watch with amusement as she rushes off. Going to study hall is the best part of my day. Since I am so busy with clubs, I use this time to get my homework done. I love the school library. Our librarian, Mrs. G, has made it comfortable. There are laptop counters, a cell charging station, and a headphones section. Instead of hard chairs, she has futons and bean bag chairs. My favorite spot is in a quiet corner near the shelves. There’s a little chaise that I love to lay on. No one bothers me there, and I can get lost in my own world.

The library made a perfect rendezvous point—it was a good place to study as well as the safest place she could think of to meet. For the first time since they had been coming here, Leesa and Cali did not have the fourth floor completely to themselves. Several other students had chosen the stacks as the ideal spot to cram for their exams; it was totally quiet up here and offered no distractions—unless, of course, you were distracted by the proximity of thousands of dusty old books. The other kids had squirreled themselves away at desks in isolated cubbyholes along the outer edges of the cavernous room. None were close enough for Leesa and Cali to see, and the only evidence of their presence w

It's a brand that's able to bring out both your dark, and light side and make them friends with each other. The thing about quiet spaces that are sterile is that; there is nothing to do but reflect on everything that you've been through. It can be both terrifying and reflective. The terrifying part can be the unfamiliar territory that you find yourself in, it can be one hell of an adventure and an extended nightmare. The only person you have is yourself and the only person you can be in conversation with is yourself. So in your head, you end up talking to different parts of yourself. So as soon as another aspect of your personality is dealt with and walks out you are faced with a part of yo

So she decided to wait in his comforting workspace that was also going to be her own workspace soon. Since Claire savored the environment in her father's study room, he merrily invited her to share it with him. It was a small sanctuary of peace and backed with the latest technology. It was designed in a way that whenever a person walked inside, the sensors would go on and start playing fine meditation or other related music to promote engaging working environment. The study room was spacious, elegantly designed with one side having huge floor-to-ceiling windows. It offered a galvanizing view of the lush, vibrant garden outside. The windows allowed natural light to pour in which provided a w

They sat with it. The room was quiet in the specific way that rooms were quiet after the significant things had been said in them — the quiet that was not empty but was full, that was the quality of a space that has held something and is still holding it, that has not yet returned to the ordinary atmospheric condition of a room in which nothing has been decided. Daveson looked at the monitor.

"You are not on commission, therefore, you are in a vulnerable state. You need structure, proximity, and visibility." He gestured around the vast, open living space. "The communal areas are designed for high-level security and constant observation. Your creative flow must occur here, in our presence, or in the studio where we can monitor your focus. Your room, Leo, is strictly for rest and... other activities." My face burned with shame and fury. They were demanding that my most personal, messy attempts at solace be carried out under their watchful eyes. "You won't even let me have my despair in private?" I accused, clutching the silver pencil like a weapon.

She sat in the reading chair. She sat in it and she looked at the Sontag on the shelf and she looked at the sketchpad on the side table where she had left it and she breathed and she waited for the thinking to organize itself the way thinking organized itself when you gave it space and quiet and the deliberate breath. The thinking did not organize itself.

Sage takes us to the meditation chamber on the archive level. I didn't know it existed until she opens the door and the room presents itself, small and deliberately austere, no windows, walls lined with sound-dampening material, two low seats and a third positioned slightly apart. The kind of space designed for things that require complete containment.

The atmosphere in the senior architecture studio was thick enough to choke a man. Usually, the vast, open space was filled with the rhythmic scratching of lead on vellum, the low hum of 3D printers, and the frantic, caffeinated chatter of students on the verge of a breakthrough or a breakdown. But today, the corner occupied by Vance and Rossi was a dead zone of frigid silence.

The private green room behind Studio 4B was a quiet, dimly lit pocket of velvet and glass, entirely sealed away from the media frenzy currently boiling over in the main corridors. The thick soundproofing in the walls muffled the distant chaos of ringing phones and frantic network interns, leaving only the low, expensive hum of a freestanding air purification unit in the corner.