What Do You Want The Notebook Novels & Stories

A small, soft pink notebook with a gold pen clipped to the front. A note was tucked inside. “Write down your pains. Write down your dreams. — A” I stared at it for a full minute before picking it up. The cover was buttery leather, the pages crisp and empty. Blank. Just like the version of me they seemed to want. I sat on the bed, placed the tray beside me, and opened the notebook. I started with the first list. PAINS: — Nana’s medical bills. — Ella’s school fees. — Feeding.

"That is a good phrase." Don looked at him. "You have been writing in the journal," he said. "The journal is also a record. The journal is the mind's record, not the body's. The journal organizes. It narrates. It makes sense of things. The notebook is different. The notebook is the body's record. The notebook does not organize. It collects."

Serena's POV Saturday morning. The Brooklyn apartment. The radiator making its argument. The view of the other building. The cafe on the corner preparing for the weekend rush. I was at the small table by the window with my coffee and my notebook. Not a strategy notebook. Not the kind I had kept for years. Lists of positions and leverage points and coordination strategies. This notebook was different. I had started it three weeks ago. At my friend's suggestion. She had said: *Write down what you actually want. Not what you've calculated. What you actually want.*

Not the kind you bled for and never got to enjoy. The kind where you could sit by a lake for an afternoon and not feel guilty. And—under that—curiosity. About what came next, now that I’d survived the main plot. Did I want to learn more magic? Travel to meet other packs? Go back to hospital halls as a visiting storm instead of a resident ghost? Maybe all of it. Eventually. For now, I picked up the notebook again and wrote a small list in the margin: Things I Want Just Because: – Swim in the ocean someday.

I guess I'm dreaming. Maybe he wants you to accept that he's sexy? If you want that Mr. playjerk then I'm telling you that is not going to happen. Keep telling yourself that. I mentally slapped my inner voice. I need to focus, I need to ask him about his notebook. "Cole give me your notebook so that I can write all the formulas which we're going to use." "Notebook?" "Yeah, a small book with blank or ruled pages for writing notes, got it?"

I get up from the couch, and my gaze darts on the thing lying on the armchair. It's Prince's notebook. Wondering if it's something important that he forgot to bring, I walk closer to it. I feel guilty for looking into other people's stuff, but there's something urgent kicking inside me. I take the book and flip through the pages. Then my eyes widen. It's all about the presentation to get into the internship. He's written the notes here and there. The important points, the conclusions and what he has to say to convince the company.

I intoned lazily. “You know, you should thank your stars that I’m not a woman. Women are always angry when a man remembers them just because they want something,” he drawled grumpily. I chuckled. “You’re right, and I’m quite happy you’re not a woman. It would have been awkward.” “So, what is it you want?” “I want you to track down two people. Just track down one, and the other will be within grasp. I’ll send you their personal information.” I paused, serious now. “I’d be really grateful if you could give it your all, Vix.”

Khanna POV “This had better be good.” I say before giving Len the floor. I have a rough idea of what he wants to talk to me about, last time he asked for a meeting like this it was to try to get me to move to his pack. While I respect him and I understand that the idea came from a place of caring, I did not and do not wish to reside there.

Kayla butt in this time, her tone frantic. A thousand thoughts swirled through my mind, each one darker than the last. Dante. My Dante. Was he really going through with it? Was Seraphine winning? I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't let that happen. "I want a gun." I said, my voice steadier than I thought it would be. Katya looked at me and gave a slow, grim nod. "You'll have it." I clenched Fernando's tie clip tighter in my palm until the edge cut into my skin.

Startled, I quickly shrank back, but it was too late. He strode out, grabbed me by the back of my collar, and hauled me in like a little chick. "Quinn, this notebook is yours?" I was forced to look straight into Nathan's overpowering eyes. "So what if it is?" I shot back, jutting my chin out. "Can't I just doodle whatever I want?" "Doodle?" Nathan shoved the notebook in my face. "Not even a pro coach could come up with these tactics. And a laundry girl drew them?"