Books Interesting Novels & Stories

Adrian explained flawlessly. “I see. There’re so many books…” I said admiringly. “I like reading although most of the books here are medical texts and business-related books. So, probably not that interesting for most people…” Adrian explained. “I think business is very interesting. I don’t know about the medical text, though,” I replied with a small laugh.

As I perused the books, I could feel Aidan’s gaze on me. The shop, much like the one downstairs, boasted an impressive selection. These were books to be enjoyed in the coffee lounge, not purchased or taken home. A smile tugged at my lips as I reached the romance novel section. So, Well Thumbed had these too. I wondered if they had hidden gems, perhaps something I hadn’t read or that Uncle Alex’s book club, Bound To Please, hadn’t discovered yet.

But it was the study at the end of the hall that caught her attention. Bianca stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the bookshelves lining the walls. The spines of countless books faced her, their titles neat and orderly. She traced her fingers along the rows: military tactics, the politics of power. Advanced technologies. She frowned, pulling a book off the shelf. Its leather cover was worn. The pages filled with dense diagrams and meticulous notes. Why would a businessman need this? She whispered. Flipping through the pages, who are you really, Theo, she murmured.

The windows faced the gardens, and the morning light was golden and warm and poured across the reading chairs like honey. She ran her fingers along the spines. Classics, histories, business books that probably belonged to Alexander. Nothing that looked even remotely interesting. “Where do they keep the fun books?” She moved to a different shelf where the light didn't quite reach. There were older volumes here—paperbacks mixed with hardcovers, spines cracked from actual use instead of just decoration. “This is more like it.” She crouched down, scanning titles. A thriller, a mystery and finally a romance with a cover so embarrassingly dramatic she almost laughed out loud. She reached for it an

Sensing something was wrong, the two girls followed her, leaving me alone in the bedroom. Their small bookshelves took my attention. Each shelf was labeled with our kids’ names, and the hardbound, colorful books seemed to be according to the girls’ interests. Leyanne’s books were mostly related to human anatomy. Lyra Helene seemed to love chemistry. Only Selene’s books have no specific field preference, but they were still science- and math-related books. They were children’s books, but I could not believe they were reading them instead of fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Trailing the texture of the books, I knew they were expensive. She must have invested in these instead of toys.

he said and smiled. I just slightly nooded at him. "There's no use of covering it. Just order something for me. I'm hungry. I haven't had breakfast yet. Also, get Colleen Hoover's 'It ends with us' book for me, please. " Many people say that the book is a sad story, so I will try it. I really like novels with a sad theme. Maybe because I've experienced sadness and pain in my life, that's why I have the same taste when it comes to books.

Curiosity was eating at her. With an effort, she made herself focus on the other titles. He had books on negotiating, battle tactics, history, agriculture…boring. Didn’t the man read any fiction? There was a book on stained glass that looked mildly interesting, but she kept scanning the shelves, hoping for something more enticing. Her search was rewarded. There, right in the middle of his shelves at eye level, was an entire shelf of books devoted to lovemaking. Wiley’s eyes boggled as she read the titles: An Illustrated Guide to the Sensual Arts. A Woman’s Climax. Emotional Need and the Sensual Virgin. There were dozens of titles.

Sabeerah brought them out one by one. Muslim Girl and If I Speak by Umm Zakiyyah, The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides, Three Daughters Of Eve by Elif Shafak, On Black Sister's Street by Chika Unigwe, And Then There Was None by Agatha Christie, A Time To Kill by John Grisham and finally, A History Of The Wives Of Prophet Muhammad by Umam Kahn. She picked up the last book which was actually a journal and tucked in its side were plack pencils with bookish scribbles on them.

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Just sneakers and a light jacket. The city was unusually quiet. I ended up at a small antique bookstore tucked between a florist and a tailor. It had no flashy signage, just a brass bell on the door and a handwritten welcome note in cursive. Inside, the scent of old paper and cedar wrapped around me like a story waiting to be told. I let myself drift between the aisles until a book caught my eye—Letters Never Sent. It was a collection of real, unsent letters from women over the last century. To lost loves, estranged mothers, unborn children.