Sitting Reading A Book Novels & Stories

She bit her lip, smiling devilishly as she got a naughty plan in mind. She put the book on the sofa and moved closer to him. “What book are you reading?” she asked, their faces very close. She held back her laughter as she looked at the book in his hand. He was reading a meditation book on how to calm the mind in 5 minutes. He tried to smile at her and avoided her eyes with his reddened cheeks. She then rested her head on his chest with her arms wrapped around his waist. She smiled devilishly when she heard his heart thudding.

~P: up for a date tonight? -P She is seated on her bed reading a book she took from her Dad’s shelf, he always tells her reading gives you knowledge in some ways. Most successful people read lots and lots of books and he encourages her to do so. Earlier, when she came out of the bathroom she heard her phone beeped and went to check who it was. She rubbed her hands against her towel to dry them a little and picked up her phone, she pressed the switch button and put her finger on the fingerprint sensor and it unlocked.

But inside, I was already mapping it all out. There were the couples near the window, laughing quietly and glued to their screens. Sudents, probably in college, sat hunched over their laptops. Their backpacks were slouched by their feet, and their headphones were plugged in. No threat there. They were too immersed in whatever assignment they were working on. Then there was the barista, humming under her breath, moving from the espresso machine to the counter with practiced rhythm. Nothing unusual. But then my eyes landed on him. The old man by the far corner. Sitting perfectly still. Not drinking anything. Not eating. Not even shifting in his seat. Just… reading a newspaper.

Like she was actually there. An hour passed in silent bliss, Nine now completely relaxed now with her resting on the chair's back, eyes staring at the book. Though she could not read the words well, she liked the cover on it. There was a man, with a woman around his arms. Both staring at each with a look in their eyes, a look that Nine found herself wanting for some reason. "Do you like it?" Nine rose her head up now as Lucas peered at her from a corner of the book. "You've been staring at it for a while. Would you like to read it?"

I’ll give them a call in the morning to see if they are available Saturday. I have a hard time sleeping, so I curl up in bed with a book. I’m usually reading at least 3 different books at the same time. I keep one in my car, one in my bedroom, and a couple others around the house. This way I don’t have to carry books everywhere, but I always have something readily available.

The act of reading became a form of self-care, a deliberate choice to invest time in a world where narratives unfolded with the promise of resolution. As the hours passed, Veronica found herself enchanted by the author's storytelling prowess. The book, a vessel of imagination and solace, became a companion in her solitude. The gentle rustling of pages marked the passage of time, a rhythmic journey that mirrored the ebb and flow of emotions within her.

Her lips remained immobile; the only thing that moved was her pair of hazel-brown doe eyes under those thick, long lashes. As time passed, the candle shrank further, the flame lowering, the wick curling inward like a tired spine. Still she read. Her lips did not move, yet her eyes devoured each line. She was seated on an armchair. Her spine was barely touching the chair. One arm draped along the rugged armrest, the other supporting the open book. The posture was effortless, not slouched, not rigid. Her black wavy hair spilled freely; thick strands framed her face, cascading over her shoulders.

I make tea. He sits at the table with his and reads something on his tablet. I sit on the couch with mine and read the prenatal book that I'm on my third pass through because I am a woman who believes in knowing things completely before they happen and pregnancy is not an area where I'm willing to improvise. The apartment is quiet in the good way. Two people being in the same space without requiring anything from each other. I look up from the book. He is reading whatever he's reading with the focused stillness of someone genuinely engaged, not performing engagement, not aware of being observed. I kept looking at how relaxed and calm his features seem. He's so in peace.

Bea is sitting on the couch in the living room while reading a book she couldn't understand. She had been stuck on chapter one and can't seem to get over it even if she already had read the first sentence over a hundred times. Her mind continually drifts away somewhere because of the text he received the other day. "Urgh." She tried to focus on the book and continued to read from the start. She rolled over the couch and fixed her composure in different styles to find comfort yet it was ineffective.

He sat and he looked at the room. Two people at tables. One with a laptop. One with a book — the actual physical book, the open spine resting at the reading angle, the person's head bent at the concentration. A child in the corner, age perhaps seven, reading what appeared to be a graphic novel, the images large and the text secondary, the child absorbed in the same quality of sustained reading that the fourteen-degree chair had been specified to enable. He looked at the child.