Sleepy Reads Novels & Stories

Chapter Six Wakie wakie! I heard Rey's voice "Sleepy head,wake up" I felt his hand on my forehead, I slowly blink my eyes open to meet the reflection of the sun dimming in my eyes. The rays made my vision blur for a while. I sprung my head up to meet Rey pair of eyes lurking into mine and his long lashes blinking like that of a puppy "Good morning" Good morning "I answered

Sleep claimed her swiftly, right there on the worn cushions, the phone still clutched in her hand. Then, a shift in the atmosphere. Not a sound, but a palpable presence, a prickling sensation of being observed. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. Her eyes fluttered open, the edges of sleep still clinging to her vision, only to be met by the most disarmingly soft, intense eyes she had ever seen. They were close, focused, as if they had been studying her in her slumber.

Because the more she’s here… The harder it is to remember she’s the one woman I can’t have. And the only one I want. Sighing as I snap myself out of my daydream I Step into her room to look for her, a book catches my eye. Taking a seat on the chair-sofa, curiosity spikes my brain to what types of books she likes to read. I swear most times she lives in these pages more than reality. Siena has always been an avid book reader and I find it cute, I open to a tabbed page as my eyes skim over the lines. Pausing, I double skim the page before bringing my finger to point to each word like a damn child. My heart thumps when I know the words I saw were indeed not just my perverted male brain making t

Keeps demanding stories. "One more," she begs. "Just one more story." "That's the fifth 'one more,'" Kieran says. "You need to sleep." "But I'm not tired." "Yes you are. I can feel it through the bond. You're exhausted." "The bond is a liar." "The bond doesn't lie. Neither do I. Sleep. Now." "Fine. But I want Caius to read it." Caius picks up a book. Starts reading. His voice is soft. Soothing. Perfect for bedtime.

Alex~ I eventually do sleep wake up to the sound of keys clinking against each other, muted by the soft hum of Seth’s laptop fan. For a moment, I don’t move. The light slipping through the blinds is pale, washed‑out, and Seth is still asleep on his bed, one arm thrown over his eyes like he’s trying to block the day out. His chest rises and falls steadily, mouth slightly open. My body feels heavy, but not the kind of heavy that drags you under more like a strange, empty calm after a storm. I sit up slowly, rubbing my face, and the memories come back in quiet flashes.

Only the low hum of the present. Sophia was curled on the couch across from me, legs tucked beneath her, reading the novel Izzy had given her. She'd been reading it in fragments for two weeks in planes, quiet evenings and the occasional hour between obligations. The silk slip she wore caught the lamplight with every small shift, sliding over her skin like a secret I wasn’t supposed to notice. Her hair fell loose across one shoulder. She looked soft in a way she rarely allowed herself to be. I watched her turn a page, the quiet rhythm of her breathing, the faint furrow between her brows as she read. The moment was entirely ordinary. And that was what made it significant.

I stare at the text for a long time, watching the words blur and sharpen on the screen. Americus still sleeps, one arm thrown over her face, her sequined sleep mask catching the gray morning light filtering through the window. Riley left early for the library, her departure marked only by the ghost of her presence - a coffee mug in the sink, her bed hastily made. The room sits quiet around me. Waiting. I type back: *okay.* Then I place my phone face down and spend the next four hours attempting to read my American Literature notes, retaining approximately none of it. The words swim across the page like figures on ice - familiar shapes that refuse to coalesce into meaning.

she muttered, her voice groggy, and then she let out a heavy sigh before reaching out to turn the alarm off. Sitting up, Shirley's leg kicked off the duvet covering her body. Yawning, she turned her head to look beside her, on the bed, a soft sigh escaped her lips as she caught sight of the opened book lying on the bed. It was the journal Max had given to her. She had fallen asleep while reading it the previous night. Her hands reached out to pick it up, the edges of the opened pages were slightly rumpled, she must have rolled over it in her sleep, thought Shirley as she straightened the rumpled edges, and then closed the book. She started to get out of bed.

She called after me but I went straight to my study room. I feel tired and sleepy reading. I closed my eyes and lay down on the sofa. I am not comfortable sleeping in my own bed. Anytime, Samantha will barge in. My sleep was getting deeper when I felt someone enter the room. Who dares to disturb me this time? Before my eyes completely opened, Samantha crawled on my top, wearing nothing but a thin towel. What the fuck is she trying to do again! I mumbled to myself.

By midday he had finished the pages I had given him and had asked three questions that I had answered and had offered two observations that I had written into my own documentation because they were useful and accurate, and by early afternoon the energy that the morning’s reading had required had been spent and his eyes were closing without his consent in the way of someone whose body was quietly overruling the decisions his mind had made. He did not acknowledge falling asleep. He simply stopped being awake, the tablet resting on the blanket and his hands stilling around it, and within a few minutes his breathing had settled into the deeper rhythm of actual sleep, the healing sleep that Rose