Before Sleep

I wish I had someone to read me bedtime stories or books while I fall asleep. That’s my silly confession before I go to nap. Also, yes, audiobooks are nice and all, but it’s not the same. I want it to be personal to me, like we’re on a call and they’re reading to me. Or in person, like holding me while I lay on their chest and they read away.

I want to hear the little pauses between sentences. I want to hear them turn the page, clear their throat, lose their place for a second, and quietly laugh when they find it again. I want the reading to feel imperfect in a comforting way, not like a professionally produced audiobook, but like something meant only for me.

Maybe they would ask whether I was still awake, even though they could already tell from the way my breathing had changed. Maybe I would mumble that I was listening when I was barely keeping my eyes open. They would continue anyway, lowering their voice as the story went on, allowing the words to become softer and slower until I drifted off.

I think what I really want is the feeling of being cared for without having to ask for anything complicated. I want someone to make the world feel quieter for a little while. During the day, there are always messages to answer, responsibilities to handle, decisions to make, and thoughts that refuse to settle. At night, I want someone’s voice to gently lead me away from all of that.

I want to be able to relax completely. I want to know that someone else is awake for a little longer, keeping me company while I fall asleep. There is something incredibly comforting about not having to be alone with my thoughts at the end of the day.

If we were on a call, I imagine I would probably be shy about it at first. I might pretend that I was only asking as a joke, or say that I did not really care what they read. But secretly, I would care a lot. I would remember the sound of their voice, the story they chose, and the way they stayed even after I stopped responding.

Maybe they would read something familiar, a book I had loved since childhood. Maybe they would choose something new and promise that we could talk about it the next day. They might pause every few pages to explain a character or ask what I thought, even though they knew I was too sleepy to give a proper answer.

In person, it would feel even more intimate. I would lie with my head on their chest while they held the book above us, their arm wrapped around me. I would hear their heartbeat beneath my ear and feel their breathing change as they read. Every so often, they might adjust their position carefully so they would not disturb me.

I like the idea of falling asleep in the middle of a sentence. I like imagining that they would notice, place a bookmark between the pages, turn off the light, and pull the blanket over me. Maybe they would kiss my forehead or brush my hair away from my face. Maybe they would whisper goodnight, even if we were already asleep.

It is such a small thing, but it feels huge to me. I do not want anything extravagant. I do not need grand romantic gestures, expensive gifts, or dramatic declarations. I just want a quiet moment in which someone chooses to stay. Someone willing to read one more page, then another, because they know it helps me feel safe.

I want to feel like I am allowed to be soft. I want to be tired and quiet and needy without feeling embarrassed. I want someone to understand that asking to be read to is not really about the book. It is about closeness. It is about hearing a familiar voice and knowing that, for a little while, I am not alone.

Maybe that is why audiobooks do not feel the same. An audiobook can tell a beautiful story, but it cannot notice when I am falling asleep. It cannot pause to ask whether I am comfortable. It cannot stay on the line afterward, breathing softly in the background. It cannot hold me, hear me mumble, or know that I finally relaxed.

I know this confession might sound childish or overly sentimental. Maybe it is. But I do not think wanting comfort is something to be ashamed of. Everyone has a version of this longing: someone to make the night feel less lonely, someone to offer reassurance without being asked, someone whose presence makes rest come more easily. So that is my silly confession before I go nap.

I want someone to read to me until I fall asleep. I want the story to fade into the sound of their voice, the warmth of their body, or the quiet hum of a phone call left open beside me. I want to drift off knowing that someone stayed until I no longer needed them to. And maybe, when I wake up, the book will still be open beside them, waiting for us to continue the story the next night.