Novel & Cerita Through My Window Book

And the freedom to running across a wide, empty field, screaming my lungs out without a soul to stop me, because the land is mine. But reality cut me down quick. “Too bad I’m just a broke girl,” I muttered, anger slicing through me. BANG! The lightning bolt rattled the windowpanes, making me jump. The curtains rustled, though the windows were closed. The abandoned book on the floor began to flip its own pages as if an invisible hand were skimming through. My first thought was, 'It’s just the wind.' Except the wind wasn’t coming from outside, it was pulsing from the book itself.

I pressed my fingers on the floor, supporting myself to get up. In seconds, I was up. I looked around, and there was only one way to leave here. The window. I chuckled. A sad sound. Because there was no way I would fit in through the window. Unless… My eyes looked around… The baseball bat. I rushed to it. Picking it up, the bat connected with the glass. Shattering it. Four more hits, and I was sure I could pass through. Instantly, My head popped out of the window. But not before—

Rose The sun shone in through the open window as a gentle breeze tickled my nose, wafting the comforting scent of my old books around my room. I cracked my eyes open and wiped them, trying to adjust to the morning light streaming in the room. It seems I had fallen asleep reading in the old worn-out leather comfy chair in the corner of my bedroom.

‎ ‎Right outside my window. ‎ ‎

Rebekah pov I stood by the window, the cool night air barely seeping through the glass as I drew in a deep puff of my cigarette. The smoke curled upwards, twisting and twirling in ethereal patterns, mingling with the shadows that cloaked the room. Outside, the darkness was thick, punctuated only by the distant, flickering glow of streetlights, while my mind wrestled with a chaotic storm of thoughts, each one entwined with the next like a tangled ball of yarn.

I cried out and raced to the door, and I was surprised the shadow person didn't follow me; instead, it burst my window glass and escaped from there. "Who wants to kill me?" (A/N: hurray beautiful readers! I think you need to grab a pack of popcorn, switch off your room light and Pay attention to the next action, steamy chapters! Love you!)

Answers escaped me, slipping through my fingers like the snowflakes outside my room window. I forcefully snapped the book shut, and the loud clap echoed through my room, breaking the silence that had surrounded me and snapping me back to reality. Sorry, sweet room of secrets; you had given me comfort, but instead, you had pushed me into the heart of my storm. I needed air—fresh, clear air, and to get away from the suffocating remnants of my solitude.

He is going to kill me when he sees this. I had a “little” breakdown, and now it looks like a bomb went off. Chairs are overturned, books scattered, and the curtains now resemble a tattered flag on a battlefield. I catch my reflection in a cracked mirror. My hair is a mess, and my eyes are wild with anger and confusion. This isn’t me. What has gotten into me? I turn and look out the huge window. The moon shines above, and I feel both peace and turmoil. The room is eerily quiet until I hear the door softly creak open. Frank enters cautiously.

I pushed down with all my weight until the beam shifted off his legs. I dragged his body through the broken window on the east side of the building. The jagged glass cut my right wrist deeply. I drop the book onto the mahogany desk a the paper pages flutter shut and y breath stops entirely in my lungs and my skin turns cold. I pull back the sleeve of my own shirt. I look at my legs. I remember that night through a fog of pain. I remember waking up for one second in the dark and it was the sound of an iron pipe hitting concrete. I remember the cold air of the alleyway on the east side of the building.

Emma Watson The sunlight spilled through my bedroom window like a quiet invitation—soft, golden, almost apologetic. It was the first real morning I’d had in what felt like weeks. No gunshots. No screaming. No running. Just the distant hum of the city below and the ticking clock on the wall that reminded me life was still moving forward, whether I was ready for it or not.