Woman Reading Book Novels & Stories

She always looks so forlorn even when she has a smile on her face and for a beautiful woman like herself - happiness is all she needs to feel. "Aren't you busy or something? I shouldn't bother you." She says. "I called you so you're not bothering me." I lean back in my chair. "What are you doing right now?" "Reading." She replies. "Want me to tell you the title?" "Yes." "Pride and Prejudice." "What's it about?" I ask. "I've watched the movie but somehow, I think they left out a lot of details." I listen to her as she explains what the book is all about and I close my eyes just listening to her voice which calms me. The turmoil roiling inside of me disappears and the headache I was beginning

She had wondered privately if the stink of the city alone could coerce her to follow her husband’s command to stay indoors, though she considered it highly unlikely. As she had paused to examine the books lining the shelves, the faint beginnings of her good humour had fled. The titles on the spines leered down at her, the jagged lettering contriving rotten faces of their own. Woman and Sin, they read. The Keeping of a Good Wife. Accomplishments Acceptable in the Female Gender.

Piper yawned in reply, curling into a perfect circle atop the books as if she’d just completed a highly productive shift. The bell above the door jingled sharply just before noon. A woman stepped inside, tall and precise, her coat the deep green of frozen leaves pressed tight against her frame. “Do you have anything that feels like winter?” she asked, her voice crisp, deliberate. “Genre?” Aria prompted, tilting her head slightly. “Poetry. Something cold,” the woman said, scanning the shelves with sharp eyes. Aria nodded and moved gracefully toward a narrow shelf, her fingers brushing along the spines until they rested on one. She pulled it free: The Book of Hours by Rilke. She handed it to t

"Do you speak of the Book of Indina? The one in the deepest parts of the library? You saw it?" "Erm, yeah," I said, my heart thumping. "Is that bad?" I looked anxiously at Valen, who reached out and rubbed my arm soothingly. "No, it is not bad," the woman said. "But it says a lot." "What?" I followed up quickly. "What does it say?" The woman remained silent, her piercing eyes fixed on me. What the hell? Were they really going to keep me in suspense? "Interesting," Elder Fabian said again.

Yessica came and stood beside her. "Looking for something specific?" "I don't know." The woman's voice was carefully controlled. "I read an article this morning. In the Evening News. And I just—" She stopped. "I needed to be somewhere quiet." "Did the article send you here?" "It mentioned a bookshop on Rose Street." The woman glanced sideways at her. "Are you her? The writer?" Yessica paused for half a second. "Yes." The woman turned to look at her properly. Something cracked open in her expression — not tears, not yet, just the pressure of someone who'd been holding things together for too long.

“Can I help you?” came a voice from beside me, and I almost jumped in surprise. A woman was standing by the bookstore’s doorway, a few feet away from me. She had silver hair that looked flat and thin, like a grandma, but her skin was free of wrinkles. She must be in her mid to late twenties. “Oh, no, I’m just looking while waiting for my fiancée,” I replied. “Be careful with the book. It’s ancient.” “Excuse me?”

It was as if someone opened a door and let it some cold , chilling air. Xavier’s gaze snapped to me. I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. "And the woman," Luna added, frowning slightly as if trying to get it exactly right. "The old woman." My throat tightened. No.No, no.... "She was sleeping," Luna went on, her voice softening in that innocent way children have when they talk about things they don’t fully understand. "But not really sleeping." Silence pressed in harder. "And she had…" Luna lifted her small hand and touched just under her nose, demonstrating. "The pipe."

The pretty lady had a petite build with wide hips, her hands holding onto a list and several books. Dorothy stiffened. The new woman’s eyes were focused on Theodore, a shy, tender smile curving her lips. Daffodil flinched when a loud noise at her right caught her attention. She whirled around to stare wide-eyed. A gorgeous lady stood glaring at her, arms crossed over her chest. Glancing down, Daffodil saw the lady had laid a heavy stack of books on the table. “New librarian?” Her voice was cold and annoyed.

Elle wiped the wax away with a hand as steady as stone. Rounding the bend, Elaine stopped in her tracks. In the center of the room was a woman with eyes the color of ash. She glanced their way for a moment, but then resumed to her book. The volume she was reading was massive, maybe as large as Elaine. It was leather-bound and intricately sewn. The book rested atop a cherry wood table that towered in the old library. The woman stood behind the podium; her old, but unworked hands, smoothing out the precious pages.

At the book club meeting later that evening, the energy shifted again. Smaller room. Softer lighting. No cameras. Just people and words and weight. A woman with silver hair squeezed my hand after my reading. “You look radiant,” she said. Simple. Unperformative. Another leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “I love this era of you.” Era. I smiled. Soft. Controlled. People began approaching with intention. Editors. Quiet industry women. The ones who didn’t need photos to feel important. Then she appeared. Jane Harrow.