Unspoken Book Novels & Stories

The Unspeakable casted again the detector. "The black book. The rest is clear." He pointed at a worn leather bound black thin book. The first Unspeakable, who was wearing the blue leather gloves, cautiously picked the thin black book. "'T. M. Riddle'. It seems to be a diary of sorts." She cautiously drops the black diary in the middle of the room, on top of a quickly conjured desk. The other Unspeakable then starts to cast diagnose spells at it. Erik cocks his head to the side and says.

She looked nothing like the old librarian she was used to with her big spectacles and prominent wrinkles on her forehead. “G-good morning, ma’am!” Millie greeted the lady with a timid smile. The librarian lowered her specs and studied Millie like she was a police officer. “What can I do for you missy?” The lady spoke in a harsh tone which seemed natural for her. “Uh… I was just wondering, is the book called, The Art of Poetry available right now, ma’am?” Millie asked her. “The Art of Letting Go is the only one available, but if you want to see it in the big picture, you can just go into the movie house…” The lady blurted out, chuckling a bit.

THE UNSEEN HUSBAND Sebastian found the journal by accident. It was three days after the confrontation with Helena, and he'd been looking for a book to read to the children before bed. Alessia had mentioned keeping some books in the chest by the window, so he'd opened it without thinking. Inside, beneath a few worn volumes, was a leather-bound journal. He almost closed the chest immediately—it was clearly private, clearly Alessia's—but the page it was open to caught his eye. Not because of nosiness, but because of the handwriting. The same careful script from the letters Helena had intercepted, but this time formed into poetry.

“She tried to kill herself on the day of her parents’ funeral, and her health’s been poor ever since. I can’t just leave her be.” I didn’t speak, but fragments of memory suddenly snapped into place. I remembered all those dinners he left halfway through, all those conversations he cut short, and even once, on our wedding anniversary. I always felt sorry for how busy he was, so I waited for him without complaint. However, as it turned out, those hours he wasn’t by my side, he was with his other “wife”. I forced out a smile that looked worse than crying. My eyes burned. “I want to meet her.”

"The kitchen is this way." The house unfolded gradually as we walked through it, each room offering another layer of warmth. The lighting was soft rather than bright throughout, and there was a sense that everything had been arranged with genuine care but no particular interest in impressing anyone. The living room we passed through had bookshelves along one entire wall, crowded with novels and nonfiction and a few paperbacks that had clearly been read more than once, their spines creased and pale. Small framed photographs occupied the spaces between volumes: Lucas at various ages, a few landscapes, and one of what looked like an old farmhouse in summer. A worn sofa sat near the fireplace, d

In a cramped room with a book that felt like a piece of my own lost soul? "The book," I began, my gaze fixed on the faded spine. "It's German. A collection of fairy tales, I think. The Brothers Grimm, but not the Disney versions. The dark ones." I paused, trying to organize the chaotic tumble of thoughts and discoveries into a coherent narrative. "I found it in a bookstore down the street. Tucked away, almost hidden." "Hidden on purpose?" Anya's voice was calm, steady. She wasn't rushing me. She was letting the story unfold at its own pace.

“Tuesday nights. The Spined Fox bookstore. We read everything from literary fiction to trashy romance. No judgment.” I took the flyer. “I’ll think about it.” “Don’t think. Just come.” I came. The Spined Fox The bookstore was everything I’d dreamed of. Old wooden shelves, creaky floors, the smell of paper and dust and something sweet from the café in the back. The owner, a retired English professor named Martha, greeted me like an old friend. “New face,” she said. “Welcome. We start in ten minutes. Grab a seat.” I sat in a worn armchair, clutching my copy of that month’s book—a debut novel about grief and gardening—and tried not to look as nervous as I felt.

A forbidden encounter unfolds in the school library as Finn, the charismatic jock, and Shasha, the reserved nerd, gives in to their desires during a storm. Their passionate and explicit tryst explores themes of dominance, surrender, and unbridled lust. ******************************** The rain hammered against the library windows, its fury echoing the storm brewing between Finn and Shasha. The school library, usually a sanctuary of quiet study, had become their private arena, the shelves of books mere spectators to the raw, unbridled desire unfolding between them.

My name is Chester Jones. There was something a little different about my body. Because of that, I was almost thirty and had never been in a real, intimate relationship. It was the kind of frustration that could not easily be explained, the kind that settled deep in the chest and refused to go away. Then there was Gavin Cobb. His life could not have been more different. There were always new women showing up in his social circle. They came and went, one after another, like some endless party that never really stopped. All of them were attractive in their own way. Somehow, they all ended up around him, letting him handle them however he pleased.