Sitting Reading A Book Novels & Stories

I preferred my books to people, and my imaginations to reality. One evening, as I was casually returning back a stack of books to the shelves, my eyes scanning the names for their proper places, I noticed a man sitting in the far corner of the library. He was deeply focused on a large, ancient-looking book, his brow furrowed in concentration. I paused, looking at him curiously, and I found myself stealing glances at him, intrigued by his presence and level of concentration in my peaceful domain.

Our first real exchange, and it fits. She takes out a book, slips the bookmark free, and falls into her page. Sometimes she jots something into that little diary of hers, but mostly it’s reading. She doesn’t take her phone out. Not once. Everyone else here lives bent over a screen, chewing food with their eyes locked on glowing glass. But she sits, spine loose, hair falling forward, a book opening in her lap. Paper and ink. Her thumb presses the crease like she is afraid of breaking it. She reads, mouth moving just enough to shape silent words.

"That the people who stay are the ones who were supposed to." He looked at the book. "Not the ones who were convenient. Not the ones who were merely suitable." He looked back at her. "The ones who were supposed to." She sat with that for a long moment. Then: "Read it to me." He looked at her. "It's a children's book." "I know," she said. "Read it to me." Something moved in his expression. "All right," he said. He opened the book. He read it in twenty minutes—the whole of it, slowly, in the kitchen with the September evening at the windows and the south garden doing its seasonal work and the house quiet around them in the way it was quiet on Friday evenings when it was simply being held by th

My legs carry me inside, passing the shelves lined with books, stalking around the table, my fingers trailing over the smooth surface as I walk. My fingers paused on the worn edge of a familiar book with a crescent moon carved at the front, the one with no name. Picking it up, fall into the chair. I roll backward then turn around, with one hand, I push back the curtain, popped a foot under me, and I get comfortable, and start reading. The book is a short one, I finish it in an hour and a half, and I remain staring at the book afterward.

Zayden As soon as I got done showering, I hurried and dried my body and hair, put on my clothes and walk out the door. I see my little mate sitting in the chair I left her in but with a book in hand. I slowly walk over to her and lean on the back of the chair. I notice she is reading my favorite book. Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. “How do you like it so far?” I startled her apparently as she jumped as soon as I asked the question.

Serenity sat on the sofa, then began to open the book, and read the contents there. Serenity seemed to be very focused on the contents of the book that was in her hands now. Serenity read everything in the book with great detail and seriousness. Serenity looked like she was not going to let a single piece of information go unread right now. Therefore, Serenity read everything in the book very carefully.

Taking walks with her and clearly reluctant to do so, yet willing to go along all the same, before taking her back to the small library and going over some of the things they’d seen out on their walk in the pages of the books there. Sometimes he was quiet, reading or working on his laptop, and then she’d like to sit and watch him, his stillness somehow calming and relaxing.

Am I the only one that thinks reading a novel is like watching a movie but in your head? I love how writers describe things and make them so realistic. I sat on the couch with my my back resting again on the backrest of it, my knees made a right angle, feet flat on the floor, and legs uncrossed. I held the book with my right hand and the left is a black coffee I asked Margarita; the maid to make for me earlier, coffee goes with everything, books especially. The book wasn’t too close to my face neither it was too far, just leveled to avoid any headache. I always have headache when I zoom my eyes in full concentration. As I flipped to the next page, I took a sip of coffee and continued reading

I perched on the couch, reading a nonfiction book I found while looking around. I had my nose buried in the book, with sleepy eyes from reading just two pages, when I heard the front door knock. I stood up, closed the book, and placed it on the table, then stretched my stiff muscles. Kudos to people who read nonfiction because what the fuck was interesting in it? So boring.

The mansion was unusually quiet that afternoon. The kind of heavy silence that made every small sound feel amplified, the distant ticking of a clock, the soft rustle of pages, the occasional creak of old wood settling. Aiden sat curled up on one side of the long sofa in the living room, a book open in his hands. Reading had always been his escape whenever his thoughts became too heavy, too loud. The words on the page helped him disappear for a while, even if just for a few minutes.