Booktok He Leaned Against The Doorway Mga Nobela at Kwento

Serena I closed the door and leaned against it, the book heavy in my hands, and my body shook from exhaustion and fear. The house was too quiet, as if the walls themselves knew what I carried, and I pressed the book to my chest, thinking of Ari, of the way he had cried when I touched him, of Kael’s eyes that had turned cold and unreadable.

There's no button anywhere. Panic builds that Grant lied, I don't get why he would be it feels like he did now. I stop when I feel a slightly raised bit pushing against it, I hear a clicking sound, and the bookcase comes away from the wall. I peer towards the doorway before stepping into the tunnel and closing the door. He said to stay to the right, only turn right. I begin to rush through it, and with each right turn, I become anxious. I feel like I'm going in circles until I see a door partly open.

I don’t think so. “Then can we go and collect the books we need first?” He finally asked, when he understood that I wasn’t giving him an answer. “Or would you prefer I did that as well?” His tone indicated that he didn’t like the idea of me dumping all the responsibilities onto him, so I nodded quickly. “That’s fine. I can go with you to collect those books.” Suddenly, the sound of the door slamming against the wall had me looking at the front of the class startled…only to find two figures leaning against the door, as they introduced their tonsils to each other.

A book lay face down on the bedside table. “Brittle bones: An Eden Knight thriller series." Hmm, didn't know he read fiction. I placed it back carefully on the bedside table making sure I got the page correctly. There wasn't much else to see really. An anticlimactic end to my racing heart while I stood at the door five minutes earlier. I was about to leave when I noticed the door at the left side of the room. I hadn't seen it earlier because it looked like the wall itself. And if Luca hadn't left it slightly ajar, I wouldn't have known there was a door there.

It made a loud click. Slowly, she pushed the door open. The office was dark, lit only by the dying orange glow of the fireplace. Papers were messy on the floor, and the air smelled like smoke. "Where is it?" I whispered as we slipped inside. "Behind the books," Lisa said. She walked over to a huge wooden bookshelf. She touched the side of a leather book and pulled it. The bookshelf made a loud grinding noise and slid sideways. Behind it was a heavy metal vault door. There was no keyhole—just a flat, smooth piece of black stone.

I enter my room and lean against the door. What the hell was that about?

I picture walking freely. But the pictures are fuzzy and hard to hold. Just as I'm about to scream into the void for the hell of it, he opens the door. I didn't even hear a key or a lock click. He fills the doorway, like, the whole width and height of the door. Which, I guess, is pretty damn impressive. Wait, no, did I just complement this thing? No, it's worse. I think he actually looks hot leaning into the room, as even the light bends to his will. I've officially lost it.

"You're welcome." "You're dismissed." He didn't need to tell me twice. I turned on my heel and headed straight for the door. I could almost count how many steps it would take for me to walk through that door. Four more steps. Three steps. Two. On- "Wait." Dang it. I heard a click. "Before you step out, there's a book on the top right corner of the shelf-" click, click, type, type "-beside you. There is a red bookmark resting on-" click "-its spine. It isn't hard to spot."

Oh we will see about that, dear mother. Pressing my ear against the hard wooden door, I carefully listened for a few seconds, to make sure my so-called friend wasn’t in there anymore, then slowly twisted the doorknob, stealthily peering inside. All clear. I breathed in relief, quickly getting inside then hastily locked the door, running straight to my bed afterwards. Kneeling beside it, I wasted no more time and pulled the huge book out, my slightly trembling hands sloppily skimming over the pages, until I’ve finally reached the section I wanted, like a burglar fearing of getting caught, my gaze hurriedly skipping over the words,