His Book club
Took the book and cleared his throat.
And then he read.
The words rolled off his tongue smoother than I imagined. Each sentence carried weight, like he was pouring himself into the rhythm of the story. The room, which had moments ago been buzzing with whispers and giggles, was silent now. Even the air seemed to hold still, waiting on his voice.
I couldn’t stop watching him. Not the way his lips shaped the words, not the furrow of concentration in his brow, not the strength threaded into the calm of his delivery.
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