Night Time Story: The Library of Floating Books
At the edge of a forgotten town, hidden behind ivy-covered gates, stood a library unlike any other. There were no shelves, no dust-covered tomes stacked high, and no stern librarians shushing visitors. Instead, books drifted through the air like autumn leaves, gliding gently as if searching for something—or someone.
Very few people had ever seen the library. It only appeared to those who truly needed it.
One evening, a boy named Tobin wandered into the misty woods, his hands stuffed into his pockets, frustration written all over his face. He had never liked books. They were too long, too full of words, and never seemed to hold anything interesting for him.
But that night, as he kicked a pebble down the path, he noticed something strange—a large, wooden door standing alone in the middle of the trees. It had no walls, no building attached, just a door glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Curious, Tobin reached out and pushed it open.
The moment he stepped through, the air changed. Thousands of books floated around him, their covers glimmering like stars. They drifted past in slow, lazy circles, but as soon as he took another step, they stirred—turning toward him like birds sensing something new.
One book, bound in deep blue velvet, hovered closer. Gold letters shimmered on its cover: “The Boy Who Couldn’t Sit Still.”
Tobin blinked. “That’s… me.”
The book flipped open on its own, and the pages rustled like whispers. A story began to unfold, a story about a boy who always ran, always climbed, always searched for something exciting—but never stopped long enough to read. Until, one day, he stumbled upon a library where books chose their readers.
His heart pounded. This wasn’t just a book—it was his story.
Page after page, he read about himself, his thoughts, his frustrations, and the adventure that was waiting for him if only he gave stories a chance.
When he finally looked up, more books had gathered around him. Each one held a title that tugged at something inside him. One was about a boy who tamed the wind. Another about a traveler who found a lost kingdom. And another about a thief who stole time itself.
For the first time in his life, Tobin felt something he had never felt before. Not boredom. Not frustration.
Wonder.
He reached out, and the books, as if they had been waiting, fluttered eagerly into his hands.
From that night on, Tobin visited the library often. He no longer chased fireflies—he chased stories. And no matter what, the right book always found him at the right time.
And so, the Library of Floating Books remained hidden in the misty woods, waiting for those who were meant to find it… or rather, for those it was meant to find.
By Evelyne Thorne
