Novel & Cerita Text Messages Book

Freaking doofus. Smirky Douchebook: Wow, for someone so studious I thought you woke up at 5:00 am or something... I swiped through the endless string of texts—sarcasm, jokes, and complaints. Then finally: Smirky Douchebook: I know you place your phone on vibration. So, I'm simply going to keep texting you until you wake up. I sighed, closing my eyes briefly. Perhaps I should just leave him on read and… Brrrrr.

Was about to reply, when another text popped up. Unknown number 💬: Need me to remind your little ex why he never should’ve messed with my ice-tongued princess?

Dee’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “That book is a myth,” Linette said. “It doesn’t exist.” “It does,” I replied. “Covered in spikes, bloody writing, and glittering with gold and black.” Linette’s lashes fluttered. “No… that book was destroyed,” she whispered. “What is it? Some kind of forbidden text or magic?” I asked. “It’s the Book of Fate,” Linette breathed. “Said to have been destroyed centuries ago. How did you touch it?” “It… appeared in my room,” I confessed, my voice shaking.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, frozen mid-motion, a strange paralysis gripping her. A simple, unassuming text message illuminated the dark screen: "Good night, Evelyn. Sleep well." Her heart twisted painfully, a sharp, unexpected pang of something she couldn’t quite name – a flicker of longing, perhaps, or maybe just a visceral reaction to the unexpected intimacy of his message.

Lena stared at the message glowing on her phone screen, her pulse quickening with each passing second. The words were brief but chilling: “Your home is not safe. Trust no one. Someone close is part of it.” The text had no name, no identifier. It was a warning from the shadows, sent to shake the very foundation of her security.

m. Reaching for my phone, I checked my school timetable and realized I had no classes. ‘A day at home sounds great right now.’ I thought. I didn’t want to see Charles, not after what happened yesterday. Just then, I recalled that he had texted me last night but I was so mad at myself to check his messages. I clicked on my iMessage and to my greatest surprise, there were twenty-two messages from him. “What the hell?” I muttered as I began to read through his messages.

I decide as I get up from the sofa to pick up my phone and talk to him before I will start explaining stories that touch later when Brian comes back from the office. “Now how do I start this message?” I critically ponder as soon as I pick up my phone. “Sending me a message will save me a lot of stress, More so it is very unlikely that I will be making a fool of myself while texting on the same way I will when I am texting” I decide as I launch my iMessage because Brian can’t judge my tone from texting the way he will be able to judge when I call. “Good afternoon” I start my text because greeting him only sounds proper

The ones who would find the book in October and November and January and March and in the years after that. Who were in their own specific, particular long middles right now. Who did not yet know that the other side existed. Who were going to find out. Because someone had gone and asked. And had written it down. As though every word was worth writing down. Because it was. My phone buzzed. Not a reader message. Not Vivian. Not Adaeze. Ethan. A message I had not expected on a Tuesday in October. "I bought the book this morning. I read it in one sitting. I need to tell you something. Not about us. About the book. Can I call?"

I don't know who I'm texting until the message is already sent. Are you still awake? ---

Just a simple shirt. He looked serious, but not cold. I studied the picture for a moment. Then my child spoke again. “Mama?” “Yes?” “Who are you texting?” “A friend.” They closed the astronaut book and slid off the chair. “Can I see?” My chest tightened slightly. “See what?” “The friend.” I looked at the phone in my hand. This was the moment. A small one. But important. I turned the screen toward them. “This is the friend who sent the book.”