The Notebook Rating Novels & Stories

The first thing I noticed was the notebook. Soft leather. Ivory-colored. Elegant but simple. My fingers brushed across the cover, and my heart skipped when I saw the gold foil lettering pressed perfectly into the surface. A.D. My initials. How were they able to do that! I slowly opened it, running my thumb along the thick cream pages. The paper felt expensive…smooth, almost silky. The kind of notebook you wouldn’t want to ruin with messy sketches. The kind that made you want to draw something worthy of it.

That's why he was a bit cold towards her, and she had never quarreled with him. What if the notebook was written for her, expressing the love he had never shown? Whatever it was, she...really wanted to take a look. As her anticipation and excitement grew stronger, Anita took a deep breath and finally walked into the study. She would just take a quick look and leave! She walked to the desk as if she had done it many times before. In her memory, the notebook was in the third drawer underneath the desk. She listened carefully to the sounds outside before pulling the drawer.

“You’re right. I usually don’t. But I do want to see what you picked.” I hesitated, then slid the box toward him. His fingers brushed mine as he picked it up. That touch… my chest fluttered. He opened the box slowly, carefully, and his eyes widened, just a fraction, before masking it again. “You made this?” he asked softly, holding a custom leather-bound notebook with our initials subtly embossed. “Sabrina… this is…” His jaw flexed. “Thoughtful. Very… thoughtful.” “I thought you might… like it,” I whispered.

With a need that mirrored mine so perfectly it was terrifying. And I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t. I forced myself to look away and pulled the first assignment from the stack. Focus, Gabriel. Grade the damn papers. The first few were routine—solid B work from students who actually listened. Then I reached one that stopped me cold. The notebook was identical to the black leather one I had seen Anna with. I doubted she had done the assignment herself. I opened it. Anna McGiver in elegant script across the top. And beneath her name, in smaller letters:

Her eyes widened. Immediately: SHOW THE REST. Seen. Reply: No. She stared. Immediately called. He answered already smiling. Suspicious. She pointed at the screen. “What was that?” He blinked. “What?” She narrowed her eyes. “The notebook.” He looked thoughtful. “Oh.” Too calm. She glared. He started smiling again. Then said— “That wasn’t for you.” Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?” He nodded. “Private.” She stared. Then said— “You made me curious on purpose.”

Not for the FBI. Not for Victor. For me. Victor’s voice echoed in my head again. *Then decide who you believe.* I looked down at the container again. The rest of the files were being catalogued now. Removed one by one. Handled with gloves. Placed into evidence bags. Structured. Controlled. But the notebook— The notebook felt different. Agent Bennett noticed. Her gaze settled on it. “That will need to be processed.” I didn’t respond immediately. My fingers tightened slightly.

"It's a love story. We both have the same names of the two main leads." "You're joking." "It's called 'The Notebook'. The movie is almost ending. Want to hear the full story?" Even still in awe, I nod, not removing my eyes from the screen. "At a modern day nursing home, an elderly man, Duke, reads a romantic story from his notebook to a fellow elderly patient," he begins, his voice strong and steady. "In 1940, South Carolina, poor lumber-mill worker Noah Calhoun sees seventeen year old Allison Hamilton at a carnival, pursues her and they have a summer romance."

"The Notebook" "I can't...", he grumbled. "It's a good movie",I retort. I pull at his hair and then screams; like a masculine screech or something. I laughed and covered his mouth. "Why did you scream like that?. I asked looking into his face. He mumbled something and I let go of his mouth. "You pulled on my scalp,Woman", he said. I murmured an apology and then proceeded to start our movie. We had totally forgotten about the pizza so I climbed over his body and grabbed the box of pizza, when I opened it it was peperoni . Our favorite. I took a slice and handed one slice to him. The movie was two hour long and at the end I cried so hard and Beck was so neutral.

This made Jiyeon rub the back of her head and say, “Isn’t it fine as long as you understand the content? The handwriting isn’t that important anyway.” Staring at the girl, he shook his head at her before going back to looking through the notebook. He picked up his pen and began to mark through the answers. Jiyeon apprehensively stared at him, trying to get any sorts of clues from him facial expressions, but none of that was given through his nonchalant outlook. This made Jiyeon scrunch up her nose in frustration. After that was done, he handed her notebook over to her and said, “Forty nine percent.”

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.