This Book Is Not A Present Novels & Stories

Back to the front cover. Kenneth gave me this book as a present. For drawing purposes, I know it's a sketchpad with white blank papers. Just ordinary... Yet now, I'm witnessing with my own two eyes how the plain abstract cover erased its colors, transforming into something red with cursive design at the center. Written in thick italic letters, THE BOOK OF STRINGS wrote itself as if there's an invisible hand with golden ink writing them. If I'm in my right state of mind, I would have screamed, tuck my tails, and bolt to ask for help. But I did nothing of those...

Ben whispers, mostly to himself, as he shakes his bundle. “You go first, Isla,” Maddox says, taking Isaac’s bundle from my hands. I smile, tearing open the bundle and looking down at a small, worn book with no title and leather cover. I pull a piece of dried lavender from between the pages, but when I open the book, there is no text inside. “How strange,” I say over the sound of paper ripping and people remarking about their own gifts.

Not right now. Don’t forget to comment. Any ideas what’s next? The book is still in competition. Don’t know when the results will come but please keep voting by sharing the gems for my book! Thankyou :) A. Gupta

“It’s this.” Liv’s gaze dropped to the book, recognition flaring in her expression. “A hard copy of your first book! And what’s wrong with it?” “It was delivered to the mansion this morning,” I explained, my voice low, as if the very act of speaking it would summon whatever dark force was at play. “I don’t even know how they found it, but it feels… ominous.” Liv picked up the book, turning it over in her hands. “Who sent it?” “I have no idea,” I admitted, the knot in my stomach tightening. “There was no name, no return address, nothing. Just a note inside that said, ‘Some things never leave us, do they? Just like first love.’”

I came back at eleven-fifteen with the parcel. I put it on the floor outside her door. I did not knock. I did not leave a card, because a card would have required me to write something and anything I would have written would have been either insufficient or excessive and I did not want to be either of those things. The books were the message. The six books wrapped in paper by a man named Arthur who had understood from a description of worn spines and medieval businesswomen that she read to feel less alone, these were the complete and sufficient message and anything added to them would have been a reduction.

The relatives around started whispering, pointing at me. “So, that’s Kevin’s ex-wife? She looks decent. Why is she so shameless?” “I heard she delivers food. She’s probably broke and trying to freeload a meal.” “Such bad luck. She just ruined the holidays.” I actually found it a little amusing. Without rushing, I unbuttoned my coat and took out a thick stack of documents, slamming them onto the table one by one.

The next morning, a single book arrived. Not chocolate. Not perfume. Just a worn hardcover: The Essence of Scent. Out of print. Markings in the margins. I opened to the first page and saw a note written in soft pencil. “For the one who still believes ingredients carry memory.” I blinked at it. Then closed the cover and set it on the shelf, telling myself it didn’t mean anything. By the third day, Elijah paused by my door, arms crossed. “You know Zenith’s sent another request?”

"Larry, I have days off too. I'm, um, off-duty." "It's just a coffee." I hold up palms. "I promise you my intentions are strictly honourable." Her mouth quirks. "In that case, yes, thank you. I'd love a coffee." She turns to the counter. "I'll take this as well please, Cliff." A gnome of a man wraps the book in a creased brown-paper bag. I squint a look at the title. Nothing to Declare: Memoirs of a Woman Traveling Alone.

SARA POV (YEAR 2077, 56 YRS LATER) "Now he is a fine chunk of meat. I can see why all the girls want him," the older waitress says as she appears next to me. I quickly close my worn book. My cheeks tint a little, and I give her a small smile. "I still can't believe they are real even though my friend's granddaughter is mated to one of them," she says while refilling my mug with fresh coffee.

Craig's expression stiffened as soon as he laid eyes on it. His voice died in his throat, and he stood rooted to the spot, as though he had been struck by lightning. Held tightly in my hand was a pristine white marriage certificate. Printed clearly upon it were Craig's and Verna's signatures. The registration date on it was a whole year before my own wedding to Craig!