CHAPTER 5:THE BOOK WITH NO WORDS

Maya's voice echoed softly through the alcove as she began to speak. At first, her words came out uncertainly—awkward and halting. She wasn't sure what the book expected to hear, or what kind of "story" it wanted. So she started simple.

"My name is Maya Turner. I'm sixteen. I live in Elmswood…"

As she spoke, something miraculous happened—the blank pages began to fill. Ink flowed across the paper like water, forming neat, curling lines that matched her voice word for word. Every sentence she spoke appeared instantly, as though the book were transcribing her story in real time.

Her breath caught in her throat. She reached out to touch the newly written text—it felt smooth, warm, almost like freshly inked parchment. The letters shimmered faintly before settling into place.

"This is… impossible," she whispered.

But it was real.

She continued, telling the book about her life—her mother, her school, how she loved art and stories more than anything else. She spoke of her dreams, her fears, and her endless fascination with the abandoned library. With every word, the book listened—writing, absorbing, responding silently through the movement of ink.

Then, after several pages, the book suddenly flipped itself to the next blank page.

Maya paused. "What now?"

No response.

She leaned in closer. "What are you? A journal? A magic diary?"

Still nothing.

But then something strange happened.

The ink on the previous page began to fade. Not all at once, but slowly—like a memory slipping away. Her name, her words, her story… began to vanish.

"No, wait!" Maya reached out and touched the page, but it was too late. Within seconds, the page was blank again, as if nothing had ever been written.

She turned the book back and forth, flipping through the pages desperately—but all of them were empty now. No glowing ink. No trace of her voice. Nothing.

Confused and a little unnerved, she closed the book and opened it again. Still blank.

Then, faintly, the whispering returned.

"Another story…"

Maya's heart raced. "You want more?"

A gust of wind stirred the papers on the nearby desk, though the windows were shut. The chandelier above her swayed gently, and one of the books from a nearby shelf tumbled to the floor with a loud thud. It startled her, but when she turned, the fallen book was already open—to a page with a single line written in glowing ink:

"The library remembers only what must be remembered."

Maya read the words aloud, and the moment she did, the book snapped shut behind her. She turned back and stared at it, pulse quickening.