Small Spaces Book Novels & Stories

“I read it the way I listen to music. Not to extract meaning. To be inside the sound of it.” Delphine turned fully toward her. “That’s what I was trying to do with the letter,” she said. “Leave a space people could stand inside.” They were standing close now, closer than they had been in the back room. The bookshop was quiet around them, the shelves forming walls of a particular room Sera had built over four years and knew better than any other place. “Your books do that,” Sera said. “All three of them. They leave spaces.” “Do they leave the right spaces?”

It was less than three feet away, meaning I had to reach across a precarious landscape of documents. “Got it,” I muttered, stretching my hand out. The book was heavy, positioned high, wedged tightly between two other journals. I had to stretch my fingers and lean my torso across the table, dangerously close to Igor’s space. Just grab the book. Just be professional. Just breathe. Don’t look at the space between us. Don’t think about how close his shoulder is, or the way the faint scent of his cologne is mixing with the scent of old paper and leather.

When we pulled up to her building, a modest brick walk-up with ivy climbing one side, she didn’t move to get out right away. “Come up,” she said. “Just for a minute.” Her place was small but warm, books stacked everywhere, plants on every windowsill, a worn couch covered in a soft blanket. It smelled like her, something clean and faintly floral. She dropped her bag by the door and turned to me. “This is me,” she said, a little shy. “All of it.” I looked around, taking in the photos on the fridge, the half-finished crossword on the coffee table, the stack of medical journals beside an armchair. It was lived-in. Real. A life she’d built without me, and now, somehow, making space for me in it.

"What exactly is wrong with it?" "The seams aren't aligned. If you fold it properly, it takes up less space in the drawer, which means more efficient storage." He demonstrated with one of his own shirts, his small hands moving with surprising precision. "See?" She blinked. "You're seven." "And you're twenty-seven, but I don't see you optimizing drawer space." He shot her a cheeky grin, and Shayla couldn't help but laugh. "Where do you even learn this stuff?" "YouTube. Organizational hacks for small spaces." He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Our apartment isn't exactly a mansion, Momma. We have to be strategic."

This was the place I had rented when I was in university. I had purchased it after I got married. Every time I felt that I could not survive being under Terrence’s thumb, I escaped to this place. This place was tucked away and a little run-down. It was exactly the kind of place Terrence would never step foot in. After putting away my luggage, I stretched out comfortably on the bed. The unit was tiny, with one bedroom and one living room. It was barely 450 square feet. Still, I managed to fill every corner of it with books.

I actually loved my condo and thought it was just the right size for me. I let him know that it was just me so there was no need to have anything too big. He smiled as he continued to walk around while admiring the living space. “Are your neighbors quiet?” I responded that most of my neighbors were hardly ever home so naturally things were always quiet. I watched his tall figure walk around my living room realizing in that moment why he thought the space was small. He was rather large, so compared to his size and my living space, this was small for him.

“This wasn’t a good place to talk. Would you mind heading inside?“ “ If that is what would be better then I would choose the better” Now there was another soul of person other than Oliver who entered in his room. Even though “it wasn’t” THAT big, you can say that it had a massive space to say. It was simple, yet everything was fixed and organized position. It have lots of space since he was a minimalist. He just think that there is no space for any furnitures that won’t be of use. That is why…

I sit for a while, swim some, no Charene, and Sean is still in the stable yard, so back to my room. Sitting in the chair I stare at the bookshelves. Something isn't right. There are hundreds of books and the whole thing must be fifteen feet long. Wait, fifteen feet? I get up and pace the length of the shelves, fourteen, actually. I go out to the first little bedroom and pace its depth. Only eight feet deep and the hallway is three feet wide. Holy shit, there's something behind those books.

It was small. This was the first thing he noticed—the room was smaller than he had imagined, smaller than the scale of the penthouse would have suggested. Where the rest of the apartment was expansive, open, designed to create a sense of space and possibility, this room was intimate, contained, almost modest in its dimensions. It was the size of a study or a small bedroom, not grand or imposing or designed to impress. It was plain.

At least there, I can have peace. When I arrived at the garden, I felt the peace hugging me. 'Finally.' Away from those stabbing gazes, away from that annoying expression of Rosine, away from that indifferent male lead. Amongst the books I brought with me, there's one with an inconspicuous book with a simple red cover. "From One Space to Another" is the title of the book. It is a romance story about a girl who can teleport from one place to another and a boy who was from another parallel universe.