Apothecary Diaries Ch 1 Mga Nobela at Kwento

Anna pov I leaned back in my chair, twirling my pen between my fingers, trying not to stare… but let’s be honest, I was failing miserably. Professor Jeff was at the board, writing notes with his sleeves rolled up. The tiny flex of his arm as he moved, the way his tie brushed against his chest… my stomach flipped with every little movement. I couldn’t help the quickening of my pulse, the little shiver running down my spine. God… he’s ridiculously… perfect. And just thinking about him… I bit my lip, feeling a heat rush through me. I wish he could take me now…

She looked away, her silence speaking volumes. Disgusted by both mother and daughter, I got up and headed upstairs to my study. I went to the drawer where Diana said the journal was hidden. I reached forward, pulling it open. Inside were neatly arranged documents. I stared at them for a moment, wondering what was in there, and began to read. I hadn't even finished the first page when my stomach churned with disgust. She had highlighted the places for me to read, and my eyes scanned through one passage: I’ve been taking the wolf's bane in small doses, just enough to endure Asher. He started touching me more, and it is the most irritating feeling ever.

I asked no one in particular but the dusty jewelleries stared back at me giving me my answer. I turned to move but my leg hit the vanity drawer and I heard a small plop, “Ouch!” I winced in pain as I rubbed my toes, bending down to pick what had fallen, it was a book and it was dusty. Dusting it off made me cough repeatedly and I stared at the book turning the page open but every page as well was covered in dust although preserved. I dusted a few pages off and the crisp but clean handwriting stared back at me. I read the first page and Immediately closed it. It was Jonathan’s mom’s diary.I flipped through the book and realized that she had written a lot and even almost used up the book. I wa

Or… is this real? By the time I reached the inner healer’s wing at dawn, my arms burned and my knees ached from the endless labor. I dropped to the floor again, scrubbing the stone tiles with vigorous strokes, lost in the rhythm of atonement. The scent of medicinal herbs hung thick in the air moon-lily essence mixed with something older, almost forbidden. That was when my fingers brushed against a loose panel beneath a heavy shelf. Heart pounding, I pried it open carefully. An ancient ledger tumbled out, its pages yellowed with age and covered in intricate runes. I flipped it open with trembling hands, scanning the faded ink.

I stood and hung it over the wall behind me, visible to office visitors. The first founder of Eboncorp Pharmaceuticals. His memory would live here again. I went to the box and looked through his old ledgers and documents—pages of figures and notes in his neat handwriting. I was most interested in the worn leather-bound diary at the bottom. Lifting it released a photo between the pages.

The first page was written in a neat, careful hand: "This diary belongs to Isabella Munroe." I hesitated for a moment, then flipped to the next page.I should have stopped reading. I should have given it back the next day. But I didn't. Instead, I kept it. And as I read more, something inside me shifted.

The clock on the wall ticked softly, but Chloe barely heard it. The new house felt strangely alive around her, boxes stacked, curtains half-drawn, air thick with silence. Yet in her hands, the diary pulsed with voices that weren’t hers, carrying her from one life to another. She turned the page. The handwriting curved across the top in bold strokes: “Episode 3 – The Office After Hours.” Chloe’s pulse quickened. She leaned closer and began to read.

My stomach twisted with equal parts fear and something darker—recognition, an impossible pull I hated. I couldn’t stop. Couldn’t turn. Not until I reached the apothecary. My hands shook as I rapped on the door, breath coming in uneven bursts. The smell of herbs, tinctures, and dried flowers greeted me like a promise. I needed work. I needed survival. I needed life for Carl.

“Are you?” “Any doctor would be.” Sylvia smirked. She preferred types like him—they don’t pry. “Heh. It’s hard to tell without an introduction.” The doctor gave up and sighed. He swept his hair back with a hand and smiled. “You may call me Loomis. I run this humble apothecary.” “Nice to meet you, Loomis. I’m Sylvia.” “So I’ve heard.” Loomis opened the drawer on the bedside table and took out a couple of items—a small round tin and pills on a piece of cloth wide enough to hold them.