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I stopped at the library door and smiled to myself. ‘Books are better than people. Books don’t hate on you for something you didn’t do.’ I pushed the door open and breathed in the wonderful smell of books. ‘Paradise.’ I strolled to the shelves and scanned through the books, reading their names off their spines. ‘It seems Dante wasn’t joking when he said half of his library was filled horrors.’ A book caught my eye, and I pulled it from the others. “Bone and Souls by B. Brian.” I read the name aloud and skimmed through the description behind it. “This seems interesting.”

“I asked why you would read these kind of books for Amelia” I looked at the book in his hand, a book of myths and legends. I sighed what else could go wrong. “I shouldn't read that” “Why don't you read real books…” “She's a child” “Does that matter?” “We've been arguing a little too much lately” “Read her something better” “Dare me” Dare me??

I felt heat start to pool low and a blush start to crawl up my neck. "About his ability to make himself everyone's problem." "Well, that tracks. At least from the little bit I've known him." She leaned closer to Rowan's section and started reading the titles off like she was browsing a bookstore. The books were a chaotic mix, some genuinely useful, others questionably so, but all jammed together in no particular order. She pointed to the first spine, reading it outloud, her voice dripping with judgement. "How to Win and Argument Without Throwing a Punch."

Besides, I don't see what's interesting about those books, they're just pages with words on them. —Aida, you're talking about a trilogy and it's not. Besides, books aren't just pages with words on them, each book is magical, with a great story or adventure waiting to be read, with characters you can fall in love with or hate as if they were real, who will only live in your mind since they won't come out of those pages. It's an escape from reality, in conclusion. —Well, I don't plan to live that, since I love the real world even if it seems like shit sometimes. Besides, have you seen how thick those books are? —I roll my eyes. —You'll die before finishing reading them.

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The books on the shelf were neatly arranged but the frayed edges and the little tears on the bottom of most of the books gave out that they’d been read a couple times. Adrian didn't particularly strike me as someone who would love to read but I guess you can't always judge a person by their outward appearance. I traced my fingers along the spines, the titles ranging widely from classic literature, to mindset guides then to business strategy books. One title in particular caught my eye and I pulled it out : Good to Great by Jim Collins. I flipped through the pages not so sure of what I was looking for, because I wasn't interested in reading the book at the time, but it was an appropriate dist

I donated a dozen books from the Barlowe house—stories I wanted other young girls to find: Jane Eyre, Little Women, The Secret Life of Bees, Becoming, The House on Mango Street, and more. Books that had whispered to me when the world was too loud. Books that had taught me what a woman could be. Mrs. Bertram smiled as she scanned the titles. “This will change someone’s life,” she said. I nodded. “That’s the goal.” I stopped at the market afterward for fresh apples and ginger chews. A few people I knew offered kind smiles, congratulations, warm nods. The town had softened. The whispers had quieted. And even when they hadn’t… I no longer let them land.

His pupils gleamed with a faint golden light under the lamp, the edges of his vertical pupils barely visible, like a lurking predator slowly opening its eyes. "The book is too valuable," I said firmly, meeting his eyes. "We aren't close enough for me to accept such a gift." "If it can't make someone happy, even the most valuable book is just a few sheets of paper," Cyrus said indifferently, as if discussing something trivial. "If you don't like it, just throw it away." I was speechless. A $1.2 million book was not something I could just throw away, especially one I genuinely liked.

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Because the only way out is forward, even if it hurts. “Wanna hear me read your bedtime story?” I smiled when she nodded. I stood up and walked towards the mini shelf in her room, which housed several stories from best-selling childhood authors. Author TED is, so far, my favorite children’s book author. She doesn’t just tell realistic stories; she weaves tales of courage, faith, hope, and love in a way that moves not only the child being read to but also the parent reading aloud. I picked up The Dancing Princess.