In the Margins: Where Questions Begin

When I read, I find myself pausing more often than moving forward. A single phrase can make me stop, a line of dialogue can echo long after I’ve turned the page, and sometimes the silence between sentences feels more powerful than the plot itself. Those moments stay with me — not as answers, but as questions I keep carrying.

I’ve realized that these fragments are not interruptions to the book but extensions of it. They shift into notes in the margins, scribbles of thought, or mental bookmarks that follow me into daily life. They become the places where the book and the reader meet — where an external story collides with an internal one.

This practice has taught me to value reflection over resolution. The point isn’t always to “finish” a book but to consider how it lingers: what it unsettles, what it affirms, and what it leaves unresolved. That space of uncertainty feels important, not just for reading but for how we approach complexity in the world itself.

Reflections Between Pages began from this margin work. Here, I try not to write for closure but for connection — between words and silence, between questions and the people who carry them.

I wonder: what stays with you after the book closes? Do your margin notes speak more of curiosity, comfort, or challenge?

Notes in the margins, questions between the lines.