Secondhand Time Book Novels & Stories

Cassius said with a smirk, likely mistaking my gaze on the bookshelves as me restraining myself from browsing them. Despite not feeling as enthusiastic as he assumed, I still went for the books. I let my hands trail across the spine of the books, stopping on the thickest one. I carefully pulled it out, afraid to even scratch the cover. “That’s the novel section of the books. There’s really no title on the cover because it’s printed on the first page,” Cassius explained from his bean bag. I nodded at his explanation and opened the book. My heart nearly dropped upon reading the title. Was this just a coincidence? Written in an elegant font was ‘The Second Time Around: Chronicles of Ava Midgen’

Did you learn to keep time, it said. She did not need to ask who. She let the answer wait until the car from the airport had delivered her to her building and the elevator had made its silent climb and her door had admitted her into the life that smelled of clean soap and old books and a plant that forgave neglect. Only then did she respond. Yes, she wrote. I learned to keep time. I also learned to lose it on purpose. The reply came quickly. Good. Do not forget either lesson.

‘I am now reading the second book you sent me, your favorite, Tuesday with Morrie by Mich Albom. Irina: ‘Oh yeah, that’s one of the best.’ I said and lifted a fork to my mouth. ‘Learn from it by heart, the book tells you about time and death and other things in between. It’ll tell you simple and priceless things in life,’ I added. ‘It goes like, we live not just to make a living but to really live life, and have no regrets when death comes to us,’ I said and put down the fork to the small white porcelain plate. ‘Morrie teaches us to love and be human.’

, she asked. “Then you would not have dreams of ravens…” She flipped the pages of the book in her hand while Edgar ate quietly. She chuckled, “The element of time rest in the hands of the chosen one. The ability to alter and stop time…”, she read aloud, “Has this ever happened?”, she asked Edgar. Edgar almost spat out the milk back into his cup, “Stop time?” Cleo nodded, a puzzled expression on her face. Read on Edgar instructed. “THE ABILITY TO ALTER AND STOP TIME LIES WITH THE

So she asked: – What if I interact, touch, or stubbornly want to say something to my mother? The watch coldly replied, the mechanical words without sympathy: – Because she is affected by the paradox of time, if your mother had strong contact with an outcast like you, her memories of the other timeline would be awakened.

My company had something they wanted in return. That was what this meeting was about. Business. Nothing more. I closed the folder. “What time is it?” “Ten fifteen.” I glanced toward the clock. Fifteen minutes. I walked toward the window. Below me, the city was already alive. Cars moved through the streets. People hurried toward their destinations. Everyone was building something. So was I. Patty's phone vibrated. She checked the screen. “They're here.” I turned. “The Woods team?” She nodded.

that I had built from nothing was now one of the group's most profitable subsidiaries. The HR director nearly spilled her coffee when she saw my resignation letter. "Ms. Shaw, you're resigning? Does Mr. Carter know?" I smiled faintly. "He's swamped right now." Seeing the flash of sympathy in her eyes, I knew the entire company was watching my embarrassment play out. Back at the western suburbs villa, this place had once been our quiet retreat, somewhere we'd occasionally stay for peace. My small fragrance studio was still here. While packing, I found a yellowed note tucked inside a book called "The History of Perfume". It was Alex's handwriting, youthful yet bold.

I picked up the paintbrushes I hadn't touched in years. I stopped trying to force myself to forget. Instead, I learned to make peace with the wounds. They were part of me now. They'd broken me—and they'd remade me. … A year later, I took everything I'd been through and combined it with my background in psychology. I wrote an academic paper. I didn't mention any "system" or "bracelet." Instead, I coined a new psychological concept: "Secondary Somatic Burnout Syndrome." I laid out how, under extreme pressure and deep emotional entanglement, one person's psychological stress could—through a profound subconscious link—manifest as real, measurable physical illness in another.

What are these people saying? Did I...somehow...fall back seven years of my life? Time travel? I turned to the familiar row of books on the small bookshelf. It was mostly science books, and I ran to them, opening the first one I could grab. Nothing. Then only something about the theory of relativity in the second. Then the third had an article. The writer of the article was in the top left corner of the page, and in it, he was talking about how he believes it is fully possible to bend time and pass through, letting yourself in through different horizons, at time either long past, or never experienced.

Dark Louiz spoke to my auntie. "I agree with you, auntie. Thank you for your reminders," he said, and I spoke next. "It's not only a reminder, but an advice for us while we still have time to enjoy ourselves without worrying about our career soon. Once we've missed the chance, we can't go back in time, right? Pages can possibly turn back, but time can't be forever. Once it was done, it can't never be started again unless there's an exemption or a second chance for it. But sometimes, second chance has no certainty," I corrected and he winced at me. Auntie Rosa begins to speak again. She talked to my fake boyfriend.