Reading Journal Books Novels & Stories

Besides the boredom, I was a snoopy woman and everyone should've known that by now. My eyes fall on the large map spread out on the desk and my interest in it increased. Without thinking, I reached out for it. It was a map of a pack- not his pack but another pack nearby. He probably wanted to destroy it just like he did to mine. I found it boring so I decided to look away and pick up the old, leatherbound book that seemed to be tearing apart from the inside. As I opened it, I realized, it was a journal- Raymond’s journal. I froze and then kept it aside, I couldn't read his journal or anyone's, that was a private. I wouldn't want someone to read mine if I ever wrote anything.

Rachel immediately hide the journal she had been reading. " What is that you're reading? " He proceeded to asked her noticing her attempt to hide what she is reading. "It nothing Hon, just a piece of sad story I was enjoying reading. I found it with the things belonging to my grandmother Anna."

"Industry-specific stuff is usually better in journal form than book form. Too much gets lost in the translation to general audience." He was quiet for a moment. "You read business journals." "Sometimes." I took a careful sip of wine. "I have a lot of free time." The sentence landed the way I'd intended it to—gently, without accusation, just the plain fact of it. A woman with a lot of free time fills it with something. I had filled mine with research and planning and the construction of a revenge operation. Adriana Chen had filled hers with reading. Both of these things were true.

I pushed the front door open and led the way inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot. The study was just as she had left it, papers and books strewn about in chaotic disarray. I moved to the old wooden desk in the corner and began rifling through the drawers, searching for the journal. As I dug through the clutter, a dusty leather-bound book caught my eye. I pulled it out and blew off the dust, revealing the title: *The Hawthorne Chronicles: Folklore and Prophecy.* "This is it," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "My mother’s journal."

“I think so. But this is a lot. What do you think? Should we read through it?” “That should be your decision to make,” I shrugged. “It’s your father’s, you should know best.” “Fine.” She tossed aside the spell book and opened up the journal. “Let’s read this.” “By the end of this all, I will probably read more books for Killian’s sake than I would ever think of doing for the rest of my life.” I sighed dramatically and came to stand beside her again. “Stop whining, you could be at a battlefield right now, but you are here, so shut up.”

The book’s worn edges and cracked spine hinted at countless secrets within. As I opened it, I realized, it was a journal- Xavier's journal. I froze and then kept it aside, I couldn't read his journal or anyone's, that was a private. I wouldn't want someone to read mine if I ever wrote anything. The weight of the invasion felt heavy in my chest, guilt tightening my throat.

Just occupying my own body without apologizing for the space it took up. At a small bookshop on the corner I stopped on impulse and went in. The smell of paper and ink and warm indoor air folded around me immediately. I moved between the shelves slowly, reading titles with genuine curiosity, picking things up and putting them down and picking up other things, with no sense of hurrying or having to justify the time. Eventually I chose a plain-covered journal and carried it to the counter. The cashier smiled. "New project?" "Something like that," I said. "Yes."