Novel & Cerita Reading Light For A Book

"Reading?" I didn't have the words to respond to that question, because anything I said would only cement her belief that there was something wrong with me. Not that I blamed her. Anyone would find it odd that a grown woman would be huddled in a closet reading with a flashlight, when there was a whole room with the best natural lighting at her disposal. Instead, I tucked the flashlight back into my backpack and replaced the book on the empty bottom shelf where I'd found it . "Did you want something?"

He didn't get nightmares. Damon switch on the reading lamp by his armchair flickered to life with a soft orange glow. He decided a bit of light reading might help him get back off to sleep. So he sat in the armchair, fidgeting slightly so that the cushion sat just right against the small of his back and picked up a forgotten book lying on the side table beside him. He opened the book and flicked through the pages until he reached his previous spot and stared at the blurry lines.

I've had soothing tea, I've smoked a joint provided by a fellow hippie downstairs… I've tried literally everything, but hello, insomnia, feel free, since you insist! I look at the furniture in the room, whose shadows are like animals moving strangely in the dark. But that doesn't scare me, it makes me bored. To top it off, Loretta is snoring like an angel in the next bed. So jealous! On his headboard, a book whose new title catches my attention. I remember how effective the reading was in returning my dream and I risk trying the same strategy again. Carefully, I take the book from Loretta's bedside table and turn on a dim light on my cell phone so I can read under the blanket. I know it's no

I'd chosen this moment carefully, watching the clock, timing my arrival, thinking I'd finally have peace. The book I needed was on the very top shelf, tucked away in a corner where the fluorescent lights didn't quite reach and dust motes danced in the gray afternoon light. Shadows pooled there, making it hard to read the spines, and I'd squinted up at the faded gold lettering.

I walked slowly out of the bedroom and stepped through the glass doors onto the dark balcony. I placed my hands on the laptop and lifted the lid. The screen flipped open. The bright light of the laptop screen glowed in the dark, lighting up my face in the shadows.

Her cathedral. She slouched into her best corner chair—stuffed, tufted velvet in tired blue—pullding out a book from her tote. A quiet night's reading before bed was now her ritual, and for tonight, she opened what was familiar and comforting: *The Light Between Oceans*. The book always bore its imprint on her. Loss. Forgiveness. Breaking and binding decisions. She opened to the top of it, and the world disintegrated. Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him.

“Maybe lights hanging from the ceiling near the coffee bar will give the place a friendly, chill vibe. The bookshelves could have brighter lighting for people browsing, but I want a clear distinction of the mood for each area.” He kept typing. “Great idea. Do you have any examples of what you want?” “Yep.” I pulled my phone out of my cardigan pocket and opened I*******m. I navigated to one of my favorite bookstores and showed him their profile. He put his laptop down on the table and scooted closer. Our thighs touched as we leaned into each other. “Wow, that looks amazing,” he said. “I’m not much of a book-type, but a place like that seems inviting enough.”

The library at ten PM was a different room than the library at eight-forty-five AM. In the mornings it had the quality of a thinking space — quiet and useful, the particular silence of accumulated books and undisturbed air. At night it was something else. The overhead lights were off. The lamp on the reading table threw a circle of amber that made the rest of the room feel deliberately dark, the shelves retreating into shadow, the corners becoming their own private territories.

He looked at her. The library held them. The late afternoon light came through the tall windows in its low amber — the light she had loved in this room since the first week, the specific quality that made the room warmer and older than itself, the amber settling across the shelves and the reading chair and the lamp. It came through and it fell between them and neither of them looked away. He said: "I know."