Quick reads you can finish in 10-30 minutes
Found 1964 short novels
I first noticed him the day I almost fell into the courtyard fountain. "Hold on—don't let go," a voice said, flat and steady. A pair of hands closed around my wrists. I looked up and the world rearranged: sharp jawline, clear eyes, a wind that smelled faintly of cold lemon. He didn't smile. He simply steadied me. "Thanks," I said. "No problem," he answered, and then turned away as if it had been nothing. They all called him Denver Fontaine. I should have known then that a quiet...
"I can't believe he's actually coming back," I said, tapping my nail against the arm of the leather sofa. "Elisabetta, you're asking that like it's a surprise invite," Jules said from the phone, breathless with her usual flair. "You always melt when Sebastian walks into a room." "Don't call him Sebastian like he's a dessert," I snapped, smoothing my skirt. "I only call him that because you refuse to call him a simple name," Jules laughed. "Anyway, tell me — are you ready to receive...
I was sitting on the low couch, the knitted blanket pulled up to my collarbone, when I said, "I'm going home today." Todd Zheng stopped buttoning his shirt. He turned only enough for me to see the line of his back, then answered, "Go ahead." He walked out without another word. I pulled the wrecked lingerie from the floor. The strap was torn; his hands had been rough and quick, the way he treated marriage like a transaction. I threw the ruined bra into the bin and put on a fresh piece...
I remember the smell of the anniversary candle: sweet and a little smoky, like the end of something I thought would last forever. "You smell like a bar," I said when he came in. "Long day," Wyatt Daniel answered. "They dragged me into an inspection meeting. I'm sorry I missed dinner. I'll make it up to you." "Tomorrow," I said flatly. "We agreed." He kissed my forehead like he always did, soft and automatic. His hands were warm. His voice was steady. It was the kind of sorry that...
I walked out of the police station like someone had pinned a sour note to my chest. "Next time, don't kidnap children," Director Ambrosio Leone told me with a stare like a cooling iron. "Kidnap? Me?" I wanted to spit back a dozen clever insults, but Director Leone slid a paper across the desk before I could open my mouth. "I signed nothing," I said. "Who gave you permission to make me sign?" "An agreement with the Spirit Affairs Bureau," he answered. "You must obey certain...
I wake up with my heart tattooed by a nightmare. "I saw him again," I whisper to the dark, and the room answers with the patter of rain against the window. The old locust tree outside our villa stands like a silent witness. My palms go slick. I splash cold water on my face until the world glitches back into shape. "Everlee," a voice outside says. It's Dustin Deng, my doctor and my constant shadow. He always knocks, never barges in. His footsteps are careful like he fears breaking...
I never thought a single blank exam paper could change everything. I folded mine with casual amusement and handed it in like it was a dare. I thought my father's money would always be a parachute. I thought I could play with fate. "Got you a taxi, Kynlee," the driver said as I closed the test center door. "No, thanks," I told him, and I walked out into a life I had never learned to live. The first night outside my family's house, I discovered the small mercies I'd always ignored. I...
"I remember the first time Mom brought him home." "Who?" I said. "The boy," Everly said, like she was telling me about a stray dog she had decided to keep. "He was four. Dirty. Wouldn't let anyone touch his backpack." "Why would she bring a child home?" I asked, even though I already knew how Everly's heart worked. "Because he had nowhere," she said. "And because... I couldn't leave him." He sat on our old couch like a quiet piece of furniture for weeks. He didn't answer our...
"I pulled her up and my hands went cold." "I need the phone," a villager said. "Give it back," I said, but they took it and walked away. I stood with a wet sleeve in my hands and a dead girl's hair in my palm. Her red jacket stuck to her like a flag. Her face was swollen white and blue. Her legs were bare. The water had carried her toward me, and she had come against the current, moving like someone walking back toward life. "She's one of ours?" someone asked. "No." I didn't...
I first stopped loving him on the tenth anniversary of my being born into someone else’s story. "I cooked your favorite beef-and-chili pot," I typed, then deleted it. "You're not coming back this month," his message had said a week ago. I sat in the small kitchen with a bubbling pot that smelled like a promise and a lie both. The dumplings had cooled into greasy lumps that made my stomach churn. I flipped the light on, found the white floral dress I’d worn the night we met, smoothed...
I still remember the day Donovan asked me to “get engaged.” "I thought it would be funny," he said, his voice flat, like he was reading a text message out loud. "Funny?" I touched the cold silver ring he slid onto my finger that night. "This is a joke?" He laughed. "It was a prize, Chiyo. I thought we'd laugh about it later." "I don't want a joke," I said. "There you go being dramatic again," Donovan shrugged. "Girls have to be more coy. You can't be the one to say these...
"Cut! Cut! Cut!" "I said—change the extra. That one's overacting." I blink against the hot light and the fake smoke, sit up straighter in the hard cinema chair and force a smile that looks like a woman's, not the tired boy I had been all night. "You. You, change seats," the AD shouts, pointing at me like I'm a bug. I stand, my waist tight in the skirt, hair heavy with a wig that itched my scalp. I walk forward and pretend to be the kind of woman they want on screen: soft, available,...
I pinched a cabbage leaf and froze. "I'll tell Master when he comes back," I said, but my voice was all small and steady like a sparrow. Isaac Andrade looked at me over his bowl. "You can't sell the herbs. We need them." "I'll tell him we used one," I lied and grinned, because lying about herbs sounded braver than saying I had a glowing ball of light talking to me in my sleep. The light bobbed on the tatami like a tiny moon. It was not moon, it was not spirit. A voice came from...
"I got in trouble for dating?" I said, head bowed as the old man waved the ruler like it weighed nothing. "Yes, Kendall Perry, early romance in our school—unbecoming," Erick Daniels said, voice rough with routine. "You are in the gifted class now slipping to the bottom. Explain yourself." I kept my eyes low. I had done this before—ten years' worth of an old wound—and my mouth tasted like rust. The memory of the day my parents left me because I had shouted at them, the memory of the call...
I woke to the sound of my daughter’s small hand patting my cheek. Her breath smelled of milk and the quiet of early morning. Jaelynn curled against my ribs like a warm secret. “Mom?” she whispered. “Shh. Mommy’s here,” I said. A year earlier, the sound of that hand could have been a trap. A year earlier, I learned that a single whisper—“Be careful”—could make a man turn red with rage. Now the whisper was a small comfort. It was the sound that had saved me. “Did you sleep?” she...
I remember the first time Director Giuseppe Crawford smiled at me. He stood at the head of the dining hall like a shepherd, pale-suited, gentle-voiced, his smile making everyone younger and smaller, his praise like sunlight. "I have always wanted the best for you children," he would say, patting hair, handing out the small gifts that marked birthday years. "You are my family." Everyone called him "Director." Some kids called him "Director Dad." I called him the man who taught me to...
I open my eyes to straw and wet wood and a small voice shouting, "Grandma, Mama, Kori's awake! Kori's awake!" "She's back," someone says. Hands fumble at my shoulders. A woman leans over me with tired eyes. "Kori, you're up. You scared me to death." "I—" I try to speak and a hard, strange ache cuts through my head. Memories that are not mine flicker: a camera, a city kitchen, clicks and red hearts on a phone. I remember rice that glistened under neon lights, a hand scrolling comments. I...
I liked to think I knew how to read people. I had worked five years in administration in Beijing, handled office politics and paperwork, and believed I could tell truth from charm. I thought I married a man who believed in logic and fairness. His name was Alexander Cannon, and I loved him. I loved how he listened, how he consulted me when he bought small things, how he joked with me in that soft, earnest way. I called him my reasoning partner, my little philosopher. But one month after our...
I found out Mark got married when I was scrolling through my phone on a rainy Monday and saw a photo of a red marriage certificate in his social feed. "You're kidding," I told Kenzie, my voice too loud for the tiny rented living room. "He posted it." "Post what?" Kenzie asked, already half laughing, half furious. "The one that says he and Megan are married." "Which of course he would do," Kenzie said. "Show off." "I still can't believe he did it two weeks after we signed the...
I woke up to a loud, boyish voice next to my ear. "Big sister, wake up. We have guests." I held my head like it weighed a ton. My brain felt fuzzy, like someone had left lights on all night. "You— why are you in my bed?" I croaked. "You married me yesterday," he said simply. His eyes were bright and clear as a new day. I sat up and saw two marriage certificates on the bedside table. I flopped back to my pillow and blinked at the ceiling. If I hadn't been dizzy enough to nearly...
