Book Review Of The Stranger Novels & Stories

The stranger beside him stared at him wide eyed “Is it true Blaine?” He was about to refute that when he caught the glimpse of Almothean gesturing him to say yes “O-oh Y-yes? Yes! I’m his man that’s why I stop coming in here. Because I already have a partner” “Told you. Now, scram.” Almothean suddenly snatched him away and pulled him in his arms The stranger looks like he was about to say something but when he saw how the man who just came glared at him, he just decided to leave.

I can see it through his eyes. “I read. Isn’t it obvious?” I don’t care about his looks or how dark he feels. He grabbed my book and stopped the peak of my reading experience. He’s a stranger and could be a dangerous person. He’s wearing a uniform, maybe a student in the university nearby. And he doesn’t know me so why did he care. I grabbed my book, hug it close to my chest. “Also why did you grab my book from me?”

He continues and I listen attentively, eagerly wanting to know where he’s taking this. “Stop smiling like that, you’re going to make me mess this up.” He says and we both laugh. “Okay, go on Romeo.” I say to him. “You have tried to get to know me over and over, and with each time, something new pops up that makes you feel like I’m a total stranger. I know that’s messed up, Rose. I’m sorry.” He says and touches my hand. His warmth ignites electricity in me. “But I am asking you, no, I’m begging you. For you to allow me to be the Stranger in your heart.” He says and I giggle.

"Then we’ll use the shadow to draw something else, Sara. A Banker who knows how to count can be the one who makes sure the grain lasts the winter. You don't need a suit to know how to share." The Stranger’s Entry The man on the stone stopped writing. He lifted the book, letting the morning wind catch the page to dry the fresh charcoal. He didn't have a title, and he didn't have a desk. He was simply the one who had agreed to hold the book while the rest of us learned how to speak. "The first entry is finished," he said, offering the leather-bound volume to me. I took the book, its cover rough and smelling of natural tannin. Xander leaned in over my shoulder, his breath warm against my neck a

I pushed back my chair and muttered to myself, “Five minutes. Just to clear my head.” The restroom break was quick, splashing cold water on my face, staring at the pale stranger in the mirror, whispering, You can survive this. When I returned, I froze. On my desk sat a small tray. A covered plate. A bottle of water. Steam still curled faintly from the edges. My heart jumped. “What the…” I spun around, scanning the dim hallway. Empty. No footsteps. No voices. I moved closer, lifting the cover. Warm food. Real food. Chicken, rice, vegetables. My throat tightened instantly.

Under a sky lit by fireworks, the man held her close and kissed her. Each short clip drove a blade straight into my chest. That same man had reposted a thread asking, "What's your greatest achievement so far?" In the comments, he'd written: "My greatest achievement is stealing a rich man's wife, putting a cuckold's horns on him, getting her to bear my son—and even making her abort his child. "That idiot still thinks he has a perfect, happy family. Every day, he works his ass off, full of motivation, earning money for the three of us.

The figure looked older. Perhaps in their sixties. Gray hair. Simple clothing. No weapons. No security. Just a person quietly reading a book beneath a lamp. The stranger closed the book. Then looked up. Directly at them. No surprise. No alarm. Only calm recognition. As if they had been expected all along. The older person smiled faintly. Then spoke. "You're later than Maya was." Silence exploded across the room. Because suddenly— the stranger wasn't asking who they were. The stranger already knew.

The one night every year when the pack lowers its rules a little and the boundary between caution and want gets thinner. I had gone to the edge of it, not inside, watching from the dark. A stranger had been there. He smelled of pine and cold water and something underneath that I had not been able to name. We had talked in the dark and I had not seen his face clearly and I had thought, after, that it was the kind of night that belongs only to itself and does not carry forward. It carried forward. I put my hands in my lap. I look at the wall. I let myself understand what I already know.