Small Spaces Books Novels & Stories

His jaw is working, I'm sure he's running through arguments in his head, trying to decide which one to use. Finally he sighs, then tells me. Title, author, it's on the second shelf from the bottom, left side. I get my keys. "You don't have to do this," he says when I'm at the door. "I know." His apartment is small and neat. Really compact, there's literally no breathing space, I wonder how he manages to not get depressed in this kind of space, with his hectic work and all, coming back to this cardboard box apartment must be hell. The bookshelf is exactly where he said. I find the book in about twenty seconds.

Making his way through the archway, he stood facing his low-lying king-sized bed, the walls above it housing two shelves stacked with books and a few pictures he had brought back from his trips abroad with two shelves at his right housing more pictures. Making his way towards the archway at his left, he entered to find the washroom door to his right and his closet to his left. Opening the wardrobe, he hung up his jacket before going to freshen up. He had a small studio apartment which was perfect for him. The only qualms he had was the fact that it couldn’t accommodate more books. The first time he had bought this apartment, his brother had asked him why not something bigger, and Marco just

I feel my whole body relax like it only does when she's close. "You don't need to be embarrassed about reading dirty books. I've been doing it for years." she says and my head pops up and I stare at her to determine how serious she is. But I don't sense even hint of joking. How interesting. "Really? What kind of books do you like?" I ask and watch with fascination as an adorable blush creeps up her face. "Um... mostly small town romance. Single dad, friends to lovers, next door neighbors, things like that." she says a little shyly making me chuckle.

Caiden went directly to a shelf he knew, which confirmed the return visit, and came back with a book he handed to her without explanation. She looked at the cover. A collection of essays about cities — specifically about the spaces in cities that had no official purpose, the leftover places, alleys that went nowhere, courtyards that were technically public but felt private, stairwells in buildings that no one used because they were beside the elevator. "This is for me," she said. "I thought about you when I found it." He said it plainly, the way he said things he'd decided to stop managing. "The in-between spaces. The farmer's market photograph. The exhibition." He paused. "You have a thing

I say to him and he thinks about it for a moment. “Okay, come with me.” He says to me and I look at the piece of toast that I haven’t even be able to bite from. I follow him into a room that is full of books and book. It is filled till the top and I stop for a while to process how chaotic the is whole place is. “There are books on the tables, books on the floors…i can’t even find a space where book aren’t piling up on.” What do we have here? I ask him and he opens the windows.

Sunlight streamed in through a tall window on the far wall, casting golden light over the rows of neatly arranged spines. I ran my fingers along the edges of a few books as I passed, pulling one at random to check the title. Some were fiction, others dense historical volumes, and a few looked like they belonged to specialized pack records. It felt… peaceful here. Like the kind of place you could lose hours in without realizing it. I made my way toward the far corner, where a small table stood with a few scattered papers and a neatly inked chart pinned to the wall. My eyes caught on the heading:

I won’t try touching it again. Closing the box, I approached the shelves. I take out the book closest to me. Brushing off the dust, I realize it’s a strategy book, written in delicate penmanship. The paper is fragile, but the tome is bound with great care. The other side of the shelf seems to have hard-bound journals. It’s like an entire couple’s life secured in one small room. I heard a scraping sound, and I turned my head to see Robert picking up a stack of small portraits from one of the iron boxes in the corner.

Ricky strongly believed that Noel might be keeping some spell books inside the room because, well, he is a mage after all. Leaning from one wall to another like a spy in many cartoons, Ricky finally stood in front of the study room door. He carefully twisted the knob and peeked inside. “Whoa...” Just as he thought, Noel did keep some spell books and even magical books in the study room. Though, he never expected the study room which was created in a 12ft³ room to look like a hall with moving stone stairs and floating books. After a full minute of solely being astonished, Ricky slapped his face. He was not here to stood like an idiot, he was here to find some spell books!

So I did. I had to bend quite low to avoid hitting my head on the top of the door frame as I stepped cautiously into a small chamber. In an era where owning one or two books was a big deal, I was shocked to see a narrow bookcase filled with leather bound books of all shapes and sizes. There had to be at least twenty-five of them. I walked over and lightly caressed a row. They were well polished and free of dust; as if recently attended to. “Who owns these books?” I asked in wonder.

Not even slightly. This man, I shook my head slowly, moving further inside with my arms tucked close, not touching anything. This is actually stunning. A desk sat clear in the center — except for a lamp, a pen holder with pens arranged by height, by HEIGHT, and a small neat stack of books to the right side. I drifted toward them naturally. Business. Economics. Architecture. And then— I stopped. Picked it up. A woman on the cover wearing thin panties. Long legs. Strappy bra. The kind of cover that needed absolutely no explanation about what was inside.