How Tall Is Stephen Fry?

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

After my natural delivery, I was diagnosed with pelvic relaxation that left me with almost no muscle tone down there. My husband, whose size was completely mismatched with my condition, refused to sleep with me anymore. When my father-in-law found out, he cornered me in the bathroom with a dark, knowing look. He confessed to suffering from acromegaly and suggested we might be a perfect physical match.

I stared, I gulped, my heart skipped a beat, my stomach twisted and I can feel the butterflies, a linger and a cold chill ran and travelled through my vein, flowing through my blood like lava. The man before me was heavenly, I could barely look away. From the way his dark grey orbs stared back at me to the way his jet black hair fell spikingly on his shoulder, my whole body shuddered uncontrollably from the sensation growing in my system. My eyes trailed up to his sharp jawline, his straight pointed nose, his tick, long eyebrows and eyelashes to his sinful, tempting, luscious lips. Consciously, I ran a over my lips but the sound of my dad clearing his throat pulled me out from my trace as a slightly jerked, feeling electrified. "Tristan, I went you to meet my friend, Dr Sean" My dad introduced the sexy, demigod man with that sinful body of his. I quivered again. "Sean, meet my son Tristan" Dad introduced me but my eyes remained cemented on him and I could swore I saw a spark in those dark orbs but it was gone as soon as it came, making me doubt if I really saw it. I watched him run his over his reddish, luring lips while his ran down my body, making my inside burn with a sudden fire I had never felt before...and then, he spoke.... "Nice to meet you kitten" And from that moment no, I knew it was over for my heart. From that moment I knew I was in love with MY FATHER'S FRIEND!

The novel is mainly about the forgotten British poet/writer named C. J Richards who lived in Burma/Myanmar in colonial times and he believed himself as a Burmophile. He served as I.C.S (Indian Civil Servant) and when he retired from I.C.S service, he was a D.C (District Commissioner) and he left for England a year before Burma gained its independence in 1948. He came to Burma in 1920 to work in civil service after passing the hardest I.C.S examination. He wrote several books on Burma and contributed many monthly articles to Guardian Magazine published in Burma from 1953 to 1974 or 1975. Though he wrote several books which had much literary merit to both communities, Britain and Burma (Myanmar), people failed to recognize him. The story has two parts: one part is set in the contemporary Yangon (then called Rangoon) in 2016 context and a young literary enthusiast named “Lin” found out unexpectedly the forgotten writer’s poetry book and there is surely a good deal of time gap that led him into a quest to know more about the author’s life. The setting is quite different comparing to colonial Burma and independence Myanmar (Burma), early twentieth century and 2016 which is a transitional period in Myanmar. The writer’s life is fictionalized in the novel and most of the facts are taken from his personal stories and other reference books. It is a kind of historical novel with a twist and it has comparatively constructed the two different periods in Myanmar history to convince readers, locally and abroad more about history, authorship, humanity, colonialism, and transitional development in Myanmar today.

By the time I return home from a business trip, it is past midnight. However, my wife, Celeste Beaumont, isn't home. A man's shirt that isn't mine is lying on the couch. When I call her, she tells me that she's working late at the office. "Whose shirt is it on the couch?" I ask, cutting straight to the point. She playfully scolds, "Who else would it be? It's a gift for you, so hurry up and try it on." I skeptically put it on and immediately feel how tight and uncomfortable it is across my shoulders. "This is an L, babe. I've always worn XL." Celeste runs a clothing company. She's the one who handles all my clothes and even uses my body measurements for her menswear line. There's no way she doesn't know my size. The line goes quiet for half a second before she thoughtfully says, "It's from my new menswear collection. "I had pieces custom-made for you and Felix, so I must've grabbed the wrong piece. I'll swap it tomorrow." A beat later, her voice carries a little sob as she continues, "Babe, I've been so exhausted without you these past few days. I've missed you so much…" It's past midnight. As I listen to the undeniable weariness beneath her affectionate, playful words, my heart aches in distress. I can't help chiding myself for overthinking. However, after hanging up, realization hits me. Her brother, Felix Beaumont, and I are about the same build. He's always worn XL.

Jim Hartley, the most respected veteran specialist at Lydian Medical Center, sat for his final interview before retirement. When the host asked if any patient had left a lasting impression on him, he fell silent for a long moment, then let out a heavy sigh. "There is one. My worthless daughter. "She graduated from one of the country's top medical schools, and then threw it all away to be with some penniless nobody. "I only wanted what was best for her future. The night they'd secretly arranged to meet, I locked her in the house and kept them apart. "What I never imagined was that the boy would go on to study medicine himself. These days, he's the youngest oncologist at Fairview General Hospital." A murmur rippled through the studio audience. Sensing an opening, the host pressed further. "If it were happening now, would you still keep the two of them apart?" Jim faltered. His eyes slowly reddened. "It's too late for that. My daughter died of stomach cancer three years ago." The segment went viral the moment it aired, climbing straight to the top of the trending charts. Robbie McAvoy, the story's leading man, had no idea any of it had happened. He'd just wrapped up a critical stomach cancer surgery and was on his way home to meet his wife, Whitney Portman.