Soundless Book Novels & Stories

Sophia We walk in silence, the sounds of the forest enveloping us. The crunch of leaves beneath our feet, the distant call of an owl, the soft whisper of the wind through the trees—these are the only noises that fill the air between us. Yet, the silence isn’t empty. It’s thick, almost alive, vibrating with all the things left unsaid, all the emotions neither of us is willing to voice.

“Not erased.” The Author of Silence didn’t move, Didn’t threaten. It simply waited. The closed book still extended. Her hands itched. Her chest pulsed. Her daughter still stared, still holding that one page. Mama lives. It was not a prophecy. It was a plea. Liora reached for the sealed book. Kael tensed. Ashen screamed inside her blood, And just as her fingers brushed the leather cover, The book moved. No longer in the Author’s hands, Now held by Liolai. And as she touched it, The book opened itself.

Atleast it granted me some comfort of his body on me. I bit my lower lip trying to suppress the urge that was arising in me. "Adam?" I called, knocking on his door. No response. I pushed the door open and found myself walking inside with the pillow held firm to my bossom. I couldn't see any streak of light. The room was pitch black. But I heard the growls. One, two, three of them surrounded me. In the dark, I was able to catch sight of their teeth being bared at me.

Mirroring just as much thirst as the one persistently drying up his throat. “It feels illegal to do this at your house.” Dylan whispered over his lips. “So we can't be too loud.” He sat up, ^^Want me to put up a soundproof?^^ Dylan raised a brow at his suggestion and he went on to flaunt his powers again, he let a bubble form over his head like a transparent bubble. **Watch this.** He opened his mouth to let out a loud scream and his eyes blanked out as he realized his action. **Oh, wait– I can't speak.**

Only now did it hit me that there was no love between us anymore. I didn't say anything, and he also remained silent. It looked like whatever tacit understanding we had was used to ensure none of us broke the silence. Then, Andrew said hesitantly, "I was…" A phone call interrupted him, cutting through the awkward atmosphere. He was holding up some gauze, but he stopped at the ringing. The relief on his face was apparent as he answered the phone, his tone gentle. "What's wrong, Nina?" "I'm at your company, Andy, but they won't let me in. They even said I'm not worthy of being your assistant," Nina Moore said on the other end of the line.

The unmistakable sounds of lovemaking filled the air. Don froze, his face going pale as he turned toward Fiona in disbelief. The guy clapped his hands. "If you all wanna see the uncensored video, scan the code and join the group chat! It's free!" One of his goons held up a big piece of paper with a giant QR code printed on it. The crowd rushed over immediately. Within minutes, a bunch of young guys were squatting on the ground, grinning as they watched the video on their phones. The moans and gasps echoed through the crowd, making Fiona's face flush a deep red.

Somewhere in a grove no one could map, a book lay open on a flat stone its pages blank save for a single line, written not in ink, but pressed with intention: “Here is where we did not speak and still, the world listened.” A wind turned the page. Then left it open for the next to come.

"It feels too quiet. I keep waiting for another message, another alarm or another problem to happen." "Quiet is something we worked hard for, " Silas said softly, kissing her neck gently, his breath warm on her skin. "Quiet means there are no people controlling us from behind." He walked over to the black desk, picked up a thick book that came earlier that day and started flipping through the pages. The cover was blank. The first page had a special name on it. "Speaking of our accomplishments " Silas said, smiling slowly as he looked at the pages. "The numbers are in your book.

He quietly speaks so as not to disturb my line of concentration. The further I walk down the line of shelving the older the books become and the deeper the vibration and thrum become. It echoes through me and my skin prickles with goosebumps. Like a siren's silent song, I hear the whispers of ancient words. “Do you hear it?” I ask Crimson. “I hear it,” and I just catch the frown that covers his expression when the beat of the thrum turns to whispers and then becomes clearer. I stop when the voices are the loudest. Reaching up I pluck a book from the shelf. But the book is plain and when I open the pages, they are blank. The voices still whisper words I don’t understand.

a row of clamped‑shut tomes creaking apart—the sound it made wasn’t human. It was paper tearing. It was keyboards breaking. It was the heavy, final thump of a book slammed shut on a last page that doesn’t exist. The voice that came out of that sound was layered, grinding, familiar, and not. “AUTHORS,” it bellowed. The word shook the paper under my feet. “MUST BE CONTROLLED.” It's gaze—if you could call those ink‑pits eyes—locked on me. Bookmarks snapped like whips along its arms.