The Reader A True Story Novels & Stories

"What if the author thinks about that way? What if she really deliver that story that way?" "Or what if the real unexpected love story begins from a reader and a fictional character. It's way more unexpected."

She wouldn’t even entertain the chance to think about being near them. She quickly checked the messages on the phone, said goodbye to Mathew and Mike, again and turned it off. She pulled a book out of her purse and she didn't even notice when they took off. "What are you reading, if I may ask, ma’am?" Her companion's voice snapped her out from her ‘literature land’. She looked at him from behind the glasses. “A novel.” She replied but realized that she was being rude. "A book written by a well-known American adventure writer, Clive Cussler." She said in a slightly more pleasant tone.

The last page had only two lines. "June 25th. This is the 100th time Dexter has ditched me to go help my best friend in the lab." "What a coincidence. The diary's full. Exactly 100 pages." Dexter's chest ached in waves, and at some point, the tears started falling onto the pages. He remembered that day. Brianna had hit a wall with her research and was panicking. He didn't think twice before dropping me on the side of the road and driving to the institute alone.

But tonight, the new comment from my most devoted reader felt like a threat. [SinnersSanctuary]: The way you've been writing about the MC lately… it feels like you know him personally. The way he takes what he wants, the way he doesn’t wait for permission, it’s getting visceral, author. Almost like you’re actually describing a lived experience. I kinda believe the theory that this might be a real life story. My blood ran cold. But the sweat prickling at the back of my neck had nothing to do with the humidity. How could they know? I hadn't even deviated much from my original plans for Damian’s character.

It looked like a prop, a piece of plastic painted to look like metal. "I’m the one who didn't close the tab," the teen said, a small, wry smile tugging at their lips. "I’m the Silent Reader. I’ve been with you since the Green World, Maya. I saw you find the bone coin. I saw you fall for Kael. I even saw the parts the woman in the sweater tried to edit out because they were too sad." I looked at the woman in the sweater. "Is she real?" "As real as you are," the Reader said. "She’s the one who lived the trauma. She wrote the Archive to process the car crash. She’s the Architect’s real daughter. But she got stuck in the loop.

My voice did not shake. The man tilted his head. He didn't have a face, just a shifting darkness where his features should be. "You can call me the Reader," he said. His voice sounded like paper rubbing together. "I am the one who pays for the ink. I am the one who decides if your story ends here or keeps going." Bryan stepped in front of me, his hand on his pistol. "He’s another code, Hazel. Don’t listen to him." The Reader laughed. It was a dry, thin sound. "A copy thinks he has a choice. How cute."

I’m learning, improving, and building this story in real time, and having even one reader who sticks around makes it worth it. So, welcome. Enjoy the story, take your time with it, and feel free to share your thoughts as you read along. — RINA BALDWIN

"Aww a mini Lance. That's so adorable. And what's the book about." "About a girl falling for someone unexpected. The same guy that told her on her worst day that, one day a stranger will walk into her life and will flip her world upside down. And it will make her realize as to why it never worked out with anyone else but him." I smiled while looking at him in the crowd. "The book is called, My Personal BodyGuard. Based on true events." I smiled. Once my interview was over there was a meet and greet. I walked over there and there was a big line. It lasted about 2 hours.

he replied smoothly, nodding once, “and I’m not saying you have to expose everything.” But there was a pause. Just long enough. “To be clear,” he added, “I’m not asking you to relive trauma.” My shoulders relaxed slightly. “I’m asking you to own it.” He leaned back slightly again, his expression thoughtful. “Readers connect to honesty,” he continued, “real pain, real stakes, real consequences.” I looked down at my hands briefly. “And what you’ve been through…” he added softly, “that’s not just a subplot, Elena.”

A few days later, her email chimed again. This time it wasn’t a publisher. It was a reader. A woman in Michigan. A mother. A survivor. I read your book in one sitting, the message began. I didn’t know someone else had lived through the same kind of silence I did. Your words felt like a mirror I didn’t know I needed. Thank you for writing the things I couldn’t say. Thank you for being brave enough to speak out loud. Because of you, I finally believe healing is possible. Elena read the message again and again. She closed her eyes. Let it sink in.