The Notebook Novels & Stories

Thе nail fіlе іѕ tiny, аnd has a рlаѕtіс tоrtоіѕе ѕhеll hаndlе. Thеѕе things аrеn’t еvеn ѕlіghtlу іmрrеѕѕіvе to me аt first glаnсе. I’m looking for wеароnѕ, and wауѕ to escape. But I сhаngе mу mind whеn I ѕее the pages of thе first half of thе notebook are fіllеd wіth flоwеrу, cursive ѕсrірt.

"There is." The honesty caught both Elena and Nina by surprise. He reached into his briefcase again, this time withdrawing a worn leather notebook no larger than a passport. The cover had softened with age, and the corners were rounded from years of careful handling. "I debated for a long time whether to bring this." He placed it gently on the table. "It doesn't belong to the Institute." Elena looked at the notebook but made no move to touch it. "Whose is it?" "It belonged to Professor Markus Weiss."

The moment his foot touched the wooden floor. the endless corridor behind him disappeared. Only the room remained. Dust floated gently through the golden light. Everything was silent. Too silent. On the desk rested an ancient notebook bound in black leather. Unlike the White Book... it had no title. Only a single silver symbol burned softly upon its cover. Adrian reached toward it. The notebook opened by itself. Its first page contained only one sentence. Every author forgets who they were... until the final story calls them home. A sudden pain shot through Adrian's head.

Behind the card there was a number and Jonathan's initials. I compared the signature and understood that the notebook had been his at some point. That could only be a terrible joke. A very ugly game. But I found myself flipping through the pages, trying to find Suzane's name. Maybe that was Jonathan's Death Note, his little reckoning notebook. But only Hunter was a well-known name for me. All the others were mere whimsical handwriting. I started thinking about the possibilities for that notebook to exist. If it were a list of traitors, then it would make sense for Hunter to be on it.

"It's fine. Open it and see. It's nothing expensive. I just think it's important—very important—to both of us." Calla opened the box hesitantly. As expected, there was no jewelry or watch—nothing valuable—inside. It was a small notebook. She held the notebook with trembling hands and slowly opened it. The pages were filled with neatly written words that repeated over and over again—'It's okay'. Page after page, it was the same words. The entire notebook was filled with them. The handwriting was not only neat, almost like it had been printed, but even the spacing was perfectly consistent. It was hard to believe this had been written by hand.

“Do I look like I’m looking for someone?” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled out a small notebook from his pocket, holding it up like he was offering a cigarette at a poker table. “I took this off a guy in Munich two months ago. The one who didn’t make it out alive. Thought you’d want to see it.” She took the notebook, flipping through the pages cautiously. The encryption was familiar, and as far as she could tell, it was the real deal. Her hands shook a little as she asked again, “Who are you?”

I shrugged my head on the soft pillow, holding one of Kash's slightly rough hands, and fell asleep. When I woke up again, it was already dark. In the bedroom, the bedside lamp was turned on, and under the dim light, Kash, however, still had his laptop open and was doing some kind of work. Seeing me wake up, he quickly closed the laptop, unplugged the USB flash drive, and then brought over the soup from the bedside table. It was still warm. After drinking the soup, I fell into a deep sleep again. When I woke up the next day, Kash had already gone out.

On the third day after I reunite with my pack, my family corners me in the mansion's living room. My adopted sister, Mia Ashford, holds several notes in her hand while sobbing her eyes out. "Layla, I know you hate me, but you're driving me insane with your death threats!" Every single note is covered in curses written in red. "Go to hell, you thief! You stole Mom and Dad away from me." Noah Ashford leaps to his feet and hurls the notes at my face. "Apologize!" he roars. "You think you can bully Mia just because you're my sister?" Mom embraces Mia, trying to comfort her. Dad, as the Alpha of the pack, finally speaks. "If you don't write a 1,000-word apology letter to Mia today and

The knowing saw. Don wrote this in the notebook. The notebook was the small black one he carried on walks—the one that had replaced the previous small black notebook, which had filled up and been retired to the study, where it sat on the shelf with the other filled notebooks from the thirty-two years. The accumulation of notebooks. The accumulation of observations. The accumulation of the seeing.

"I was twenty-nine and I had met someone on the night bus and had a series of conversations that stayed with me when the person was gone. And I wrote it down the only way I could." Daniel looked at the dark blue notebook on the table. He thought about the twenty-nine year old Adrian and the four months on the night bus and the composition written in the year of it. He thought about all the years between twenty-nine and the rainy night, the nine years of the carrying, and the composition in the notebook all that time — the inside view of the recognition, preserved. He thought: the notebook is not February.

Hot Chapters

The Stranger Who Stayed:When Fate Knocks Once Chapter Two Hundred and Fourteen: What Frances Knows in DecemberThe Stranger Who Stayed:When Fate Knocks Once Chapter One Hundred and Ninety-Eight: GroundThe Stranger Who Stayed:When Fate Knocks Once Chapter One Hundred and Sixty: The Farrow House in Progress