Arti And Jamal の小説・ストーリー

The room was dark and quiet, the only source of light being the fire place that burned and heated up the otherwise cold room. In the middle of the room was a large wooden table with a chair at both ends, Damian sat on one with Don and Leo standing behind him while Jamal Murray, a bald black man that looked to be in his mind forties with dark unforgiven eyes and a sharp cunning smile sat at the other with a stone faced guard standing behind him. Jamal was one of the few men who weren't born into this world but had managed to carve a place in it for themselves and he wasn't just some local boss running a small operation and raising his shoulders, He was the leader of the fucking Underground.

In less than no time, they were casually dressed up and had hit the road. Jamal was dressed in a pair black of denim jeans and a black t-shirt over it. On his feet were a pair of white converse and a black blazer graced his entire outfit. He also had on a black face-cap which would conceal the most part of his face. Adele had on a pair of boyfriend jeans and a blouse tucked into it. A leather belt held the jean in place on her tiny waist and on her feet were a pair of black Balenciaga. Her hair was wrapped up in a messy ponytail and she had on no make-up. She held her little handbag on her left hand while her right arm was wrapped around Jamal's left arm as they walked on the street.

Jasmine shouted Ari turned quickly, bringing down the opponent. She sighed. "Ryan and Jamal are not back yet" "I think it's a trap. We can't keep waiting" Jasmine answered Ariana nodded in agreement. "I think you're right. We need to find Jabal" "I will keep fighting while you go after him. Find me when you find him" Ariana smiled. "Be safe" **

The moment it came off, a gasp escaped my throat. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I was completely speechless. It was an art room, a fucking studio. It was a top-of-the-line art room with everything I could think of inside. I did not have words to express how I was feeling, that my eyes were glistening with tears. “Fuck, Sera. I don’t want you to cry, I learned you love to paint. So I did this for you.” Jamal says as he wipes the tears that were streaming down my face off.

Jamaal and mystery man. ******

I said, and her face turned into an upset one, so I added, "But I don't mind you knowing more. In fact, you should know everything about me. For starters, I used to be a professional artist and I had my own art gallery." "Oh, my God, are you really ES?" Wow, that's an unexpected development. "How do you know ES?" I asked, smirking. "I'm a huge fan of yours!" "Really? Thank you." She hugged the painting close to her chest and said, "This is the best gift I have ever received. Thank you so much for that, Eltan. I couldn't imagine that someone could notice such details about me." She was still in awe about her exact appearance on the day we first met being painted on the canvas. "That must have

One night, after a beating—Jamal had refused to pass drugs to a guard—Vito passed a piece of clean cloth through the bars to staunch the bleeding. “Why?” Jamal asked, his voice cracking. “Because you're the only one who hasn't betrayed me,” Vito said. “And because, perhaps, God is using you to remind me that I'm still a man.” It wasn't friendship.It was something harder, purer. Two exiles on a cursed island. One white, one black. One Sicilian, one Nigerian. Both ate shit, slept on concrete, and stared at the same sea that had swallowed them. One morning, during exercise time, Vito stopped in the center of the courtyard. The sun was a blade. Jamal was beside him.

The sight tightened something inside both of them. Neither needed to say it. The concern existed without words. An hour later the crowd began thinning. Collectors departed. Artists relaxed. The pressure eased. Jessica found herself helping clear glasses. A glamorous artistic career, apparently. As she crossed the gallery, she spotted Camille near the entrance. Smiling. Happy. Flushed with success. Laurent stood beside her. The two appeared deep in conversation. Then Jessica saw something she didn't like. A hand. Laurent's hand.

Six months since Jafar was accepted into Pecan as rightful heir of the throne, obviously he survived the knife wound. Six months since Zella and Pooja opened a dancing school with the help of Queen Mila. Six months since Ditya went back to Pecan after pleading for forgiveness in front of the whole council. Most importantly its been six months since I last saw him... Jamal.. My Jamal. Actually he went on a royal trip to the civilized province to convince them to bring their technics into Zedora, I really can't believe it's been that long. I wonder what's keeping him there, I just hope he is okay.

he greets excitedly. “Jamal, what a pleasant surprise!" I say, shaking him and thereafter ruffling his neatly sleeked hair. “Not the hair, bro!” he says, adjusting it. "I thought to pay you a surprise visit since I stopped by in New York." "Well, it’s good to have you here,” “Of course it is,” Jamal brags, and I laugh as we both take our seats. “So what brings you to New York—work or a woman?” I ask, and he laughs.