Book Reading Photos Mga Nobela at Kwento

It’s similar to our room back at the penthouse. But this one has some changes, there’s no sign of me. It’s a typical men’s room but one that is organised, and I’m not talking about it being clean, but the décor and the books are all placed in an organised manner. I walk through the room, brushing my fingers along the black furniture. There are a few frames amongst his books. Mostly photographs of gorgeous sceneries. The first one is of a sunset on a beach, the second a sunny day in a forest, and the third- I stop as I pick it up, my heart racing as I scan the first two.

"Debt? You don't have a—" "Shh," Alia cut in, giggling now. "You always have a hard time accepting things. Just relax and we'd get to it," Then she ran to her wardrobe, bringing out three books. "Photo albums!" "There are three of those?" Alia nodded, running to join her on the bed before plopping beside her and placing them on her laps. "I have photos of you since the day you were six. Photos that I'm sure you don't have,"

"That's a second set of books." Zariel moved further down the row, and that was when she found the photographs, a whole box of them, black and white, some color, faces she half recognized and dozens she didn't, all of them arranged with a care that felt almost reverent, dates written in careful pencil along the bottom edge of every print. "Kaelen. Come look at this one." He took the photograph from her hand, and something crossed his face she'd never once seen there before, a boy of maybe six or seven standing between two adults she didn't recognize, none of them smiling, all of them standing exactly the correct, careful distance apart.

I frowned and looked down, only to see that the wooden tiles had slipped out of place, revealing the floor underneath. I fixed the wooden tiles back to their original place, yet found a book underneath one of them. No, scratch that. This doesn't look like a book. It's more like a photo album of some sort. I picked it up from the floor and sat down on the bed, inspecting the old photobook in my hands. I opened it carefully and looked at the content inside. At first glance, it seemed to be an old photobook of the royal family. There was Queen Grace, King Leo, and Isabelle too. But at this time, they only seem to be a minor part of the royal family.

She looked away, but just as quickly looked back as something caught her eyes. There was a photograph on the middle shelf, tucked between a Marcus Aurelius with a broken spine and a copy of a property law casebook that no practicing attorney had any reason to keep unless they were sentimental about something. The photograph was not displayed. It was not in a frame. It was leaning against the books like it had been placed there without much thought, or with so much thought that it had been there long enough to look casual. Emma crossed the room before she knew she was doing it.

“Just. Fucking. Read it.” “That still sounds like paperwork.” “Aiden.” I sighed dramatically. “You’ve become very demanding in your old age.” “Just.Read.” I opened the folder and the moment I saw the first photograph, my smile disappeared, a second later, I was reading every page then every page again. Silence settled over the table.. The dangerous kind. When I finally looked up, Emile was watching me carefully. “Where did you get this?” “The question isn’t where.” “It absolutely is.”

She opened it slowly. A folded photograph slipped free and fluttered onto the counter. The world narrowed. Her breath stopped. The photograph was sepia-toned, its edges curled and fragile. A small girl stood beside a woman whose eyes held sunlight. The girl’s hair was tied back messily. Her grin was wide and fearless. Clara’s hands began to tremble. It was her. And her mother. For a long moment, the bookstore disappeared. She could smell smoke. She could hear splintering wood.

I don’t try touching it again. Closing the box, I approach the shelves. I take out the book closest to me. Brushing off the dust, I realize it’s a strategy book, written in delicate penmanship. The paper is fragile, but the tome is bound with great care. The other side of the shelf seems to have hard-bound journals. It’s like an entire couple’s life secured in one small room. I hear a scraping sound, and I turn my head to see Robert picking up a stack of small portraits from one of the iron boxes in the corner.

It kills me that this fleeting touch is the only physical connection we can share. “I... I know,” she smiles warmly at me, the corners of her lips lifting ever so slightly. In that moment, a glimmer of hope ignites within me, like a tiny flame flickering to life. With delicate hands, she takes the books from me, their weight transferring from my palms to hers. As she flips through the pages, the sound of paper rustling fills the room, a soft whisper that mingles with the hushed anticipation hanging in the air. Her eyes fixate on certain photos, her gaze lingering on them for what feels like an eternity. I watch intently, wondering if those images hold the power to jog her memory.

“Let me see the pictures first.” He took his camera from the mahogany centrepiece and clicked a few buttons before handing it over to her. From the title bar, she could see he'd opened a folder named Eva. As she scanned through, she realized that like the photos in the album, all her pictures were taken candidly or when she'd been caught off guard. No stiff poses or for-the-camera smiles. There were two from the day they'd gone horseback riding when she'd been bouncing on the horse exhilaratingly.