Novel & Cerita Booktok Books That Will Make You Cry

“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.”

Hello Lovely People! Don't forget to Rate my book with5 stars, share my book with your friends and your voice in the comment section. Also read my other new book 'Sealed Desire' Love, Krystal GoodNovel. *** When fate plays with you, it lays down all the hurdles in between and causes you pain to such extent that they leave scars. These scars might disappear but the pain gets inflicted to such extent that even their memory brings tears to the eyes.

"What if she tore all of my books? How would I read? What would I do without my books? If I don't have books, I would feel sad, and then I would get into panic attacks. Panic attacks? Kabir, do you understand this? It means I've to take my pills again and then cutting will start, nightmares will come. She'll hear me screaming. She'll get scared like Misha did. Oh my god, everything--" "Shush." Kabir got my hands, bent in front of me with a frown. "Bookworm, you are rambling again. Everything will be okay. You'll talk to her and tell how it troubles you when your books are torn. Work it out. I'm sure she feels regretful. Okay?" I nodded. He touched my cheek, rubbing his thumb on my chin. "Don

I love the quiet, the possibility, the way you could lose yourself in someone else's story for a while and forget about your own mess. I went straight to the fiction section, and browsed for a while, pulling out books at random and reading the first few pages. Most of them didn't grab me, but there was one: it's a debut novel about a woman trying to figure out who she was outside of who everyone expected her to be. It made me pause. I read the first chapter standing there in the aisle, and by the end of it, I was really buying it. The cashier was a girl around my age with purple hair and a nose ring, and she smiled when she saw my choice. "That one's really good. It made me cry like three ti

"...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.

Don't just skip this book again; add to library. Enjoy! Your loving author; Natasha Gwen

Completely unguarded. And that, more than anything else, unsettled him. Because he could feel it. In his chest. That deadly spark again. He scanned the cover, thumb following the title, then back at her. "Why this one?" "It's a book about sadness," she told him quietly. "But not the kind that cries out. The kind that settles into the space between us." Some dark, wordless flicker showed behind his eyes. He nodded once, palming the book into his coat pocket as if it was evidence in a case he wasn't ready to break yet.

“That line about choosing yourself? I underlined it three times.” Another laughed. “I didn’t expect your book to call me out like that. I was reading on the bus and just sat there thinking… wow. Okay.” A girl no older than twenty stood in front of me, hands shaking slightly. “Your character made me feel less crazy,” she said, eyes glassy. “Like maybe I’m not broken for wanting more.” She cried before she finished the sentence. I slid tissues across the table and squeezed her hand, my throat tight in that quiet way.

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