روايات وقصص ضمن Booktok Books That Make You Cry

And I can say that he is telling me the truth. "In that case, what's the unique-unqiue love you said there earlier?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "You know, I'm a book worm. I love to read books, especially when it comes to love. I just read that in a book about a broken heart, and then it says there that when you don't cry or you don't you've been hurt your whole life because of someone it means you didn't really love him or he was never a part of your life. love. Because it's really part of love to hurt us and cry. Unless you're really numb or you don't feel anything, right? " the weight I felt in my chest eased a bit as he told me about what he had read in the book.

“What about Volcanoebook, I*****r, Novelnow, Libri, R*****m, N*******r, Popink- oh my gosh, how did I know that?” She laughs, “That was one of the options and you chose that. And yeah, my books are there but guess what, no one comments about something related to the book, no one comments at all, except for Volcanebook’s readers. I love them.” She continues, “I doubt that anyone reads it in majority of the platforms you called. I got pretty comments from Volcanoebooks but I am unsatisfied, I just want to read something related to the story, to be sure that they read it. Don’t get me wrong, I do love them for their comments but still… I need something deep that’s going to make me cry out.”

"...Yes." I had not been crying. I had been holding it. I had been holding it for nine days. I had been holding it the morning of the silver flash, and the morning of the cook's recognition, and the morning of the True Alpha provisions in the library, and the morning of Kael's you are not an omega, and the night of the corridor, and the morning of the water glass, and every other morning in between. I sat at the writing table with the book open to a photograph of a nineteen-year-old girl with silver in her eyes, and I cried.

Broken Open Aria I didn’t cry prettily. I want to be clear about that because I’ve read enough books to know that women in stories cry in ways that are somehow still attractive — single tears, trembling lips, quiet dignity. That is not what happened to me on Caden’s couch at eight thirty in the morning. What happened was ugly and loud and completely without warning, the kind of crying that starts somewhere in your chest before your brain has finished processing what triggered it and arrives on your face as a full collapse before you can decide whether to let it.

"And I'm only going to say it one last time." Terry tightened his grip by a fraction of a millimeter. Julian’s knees buckled slightly, a whimpering gasp escaping his lips as he was forced onto his tiptoes to relieve the agonizing pressure radiating up his arm. Tears of pain pricked the corners of his eyes, his polished, untouchable corporate mask completely shattered into pathetic, terrified fragments.

They were the books after Anthony’s book. I walk back to my section, sit down on the couch, and get into a comfortable enough position. I continue reading Anthony’s book and by the time I finished it, I was close to tears. I was confused as to why I was crying, the book was not that sad. My brain final clicked that I was not crying because of the book.

Thank you for following my stories, you don't know how much I appreciate it, I hope you stay tuned, there are still more books of my audit to come out. **WEREWOLF SAGA ( 3 BOOKS AVAILABLE AND GOODNOVEL) passion, alpha possessive and rebellious moon, temptations, infidelity and much more...**. - I BELONG TO YOU FOREVER BOOK 1 (23,300 READERS) - ENDLESSLY MINE BOOK 2 (5200 READERS)

The sound of crying catches my attention and leads me to the library. Lyra is cradling her stomach, while huge tears drip down her face and land on the pages of the book in front of her. Taking the seat beside her, I pull her over so she is cradled in my lap and I hold her while she cries. She buries her head in my chest and continues to cry. Not even the mate bond can pull her from what she is feeling right now. Sliding the book that she was reading over; I glance over the page that she has been reading. Huge water spots cover the pages where her tears soaked through the paper. Holding Lyra closer I read the page that made her so upset.

And then it vanished. I slid down to the floor, my back pressed against the cold stone, the heavy book still warm against my palm like a cruel reminder. "Why?" My voice cracked as I sobbed, "Why give me hope just to rip it away?" More tears stung at my eyes, but I forced them right back. Crying wouldn't help, crying never helped. And if someone found me here, blubbering over a magic book like some kind of lunatic, I'd probably even have bigger problems than homesickness.