Woman Reading Books Novels & Stories

She made me feel safe and welcomed, something I was gradually losing. I watched as she flipped through the pages of a book, her eyes scanning the pages like she was feasting on them. “Do you really have to finish reading that today?” I asked, crossing my arms as I stared at her. Apart from the fact that she loves cooking, she's obsessed with reading novels as well. Kiera is a book lover, someone that could finish a whole book in a single day. She raised her head slowly, meeting my gaze with a graceful smile, “Yes, I am.” she replied curtly, returning back to the book.

Tall shelves lined every wall, packed so tightly with books that barely any of the wall behind them was visible. A few people were seated at the reading tables, their heads bent over open pages; the whole place was so quiet that it made you feel like you needed permission to breathe. I walked up to the desk. "I'm looking for Books or records about a particular kind of wolf," I said, keeping my voice low. The lady nodded. "Okay?" She asked, as if urging me to continue. "The Star Lycans. I want to know more about them." The lady's fingers paused over her keyboard.

Dangerous in a way that wasn’t loud but quiet, careful, and packed with hidden truths. She walked slowly past fiction, biographies, self-help. Then stopped. In the poetry section, a woman stood with her back to her. Curly auburn hair, longer than in the photo. A trench coat. Fingers thumbing through a worn copy of Milk and Honey like it wasn’t just a book but a memory. “Elena?” Ava said. The woman turned slowly. Her face was older. Not in years though there were fine lines around her eyes but in the way grief and silence age a person.

a sexy librarian. During that first encounter, I struggled to focus my attention on her face (or Janie), because her tits were an eyeful. Either she had big, hard nipples or puffies poking through her bra; they were almost impossible to ignore. The t-shirt hugged her body and showed everything she had to offer; the shirt had "Books Make Everything Better" across the front and I tried to cover my adolescent behavior by asking her about the shirt. She smiled, "I'm in library sciences and I got it at a library symposium...yeah, there are library conventions. I know it sounds geeky, but they can get wild."

The smell of old paper and coffee wrapped around her like a blanket. "Can I help you?" asked the woman behind the counter. She was older, with gray hair and kind eyes and reading glasses perched on her nose. "I'm just looking," Emma said. "Take your time. That's what books are for." Emma wandered the aisles. She ran her fingers along the spines. She pulled out a novel, read the first page, put it back. She pulled out another, read the first paragraph, held it to her chest. This one, she thought.

Rows of books stretch out like narrow hallways, dim and waiting. Behind a wide oak desk, a woman looks up. She’s maybe in her sixties, hair pulled into a bun so tight it gives me a headache just looking at it. She wears a buttoned cardigan the color of dusty rose and has the kind of sharp eyes that could slice through lies like hot wire through butter. “Good afternoon,” she says politely. “Hi.” I step closer. “I was wondering if you have any historical records of…um…on Hucow Hollow?” I finish.

"I am aware of that. It is your job to sit down and listen to people talk about the problems in their life. I appreciate what you are doing for me but this isn't the time to bring them into the limelight." "I understand," the woman said and wrote a sentence on her small notebook. "Do you read a lot of books?" "Not really. Books tends to take me away from the physical world and toss me into an imaginary world." "But that is the purpose of it. Books are designed to give you a wide sense of imagination. They were created so all of us can see beyond the physical world. I am not a good reader but I still can't stop myself from reading a lot of books about keeping calmness in my heart. If you ask

Luciana. She was curled up awkwardly against the armrest, a blanket half-draped across her, her hair messy and her breathing soft. In front of her on the coffee table were scattered books, the kind I hadn't expected to ever see in my home: How to Care for Your Baby in the Womb, First-Time Mothers: A Guide, Pregnancy Nutrition and Safety. A small pile, all bent open in the middle as though she'd been trying to absorb them all at once. Beside the books, an empty plate—cookie crumbs the only evidence of what had kept her company while she read.

She reached for it. The Weight of Silence. Her thumb traced the letters. Something inside her stirred. “That looks like a good one,” Amy said, peeking. Camellia whispered, “Yeah…” “Beautiful choice,” came a voice behind her. She turned. A woman stood there—elegant, warm-eyed, carrying herself with quiet grace. Her hair was styled in a ponytail and her scent lingered in the air. “That book,” the woman said gently, “is about healing. People don’t pick it up unless they need it.”

“I’ll let it go this once. The next time you come to me with such dangerous questions, you will be duly punished. Library etiquette. Your hands must be sanitised with that special mix over there before you touch any book, and any one you intend to take out of here must be registered with me.” She spins around and marches to the high backed seat, plopping herself into it. She’s the librarian? The woman is an enigma, her words confuse me, as she does herself. What was that about my self-destruction? A curse or just the ramblings of an old woman?