Imperfect Books Novels & Stories

"Well, All books, all genres except sad fictions. I don't understand why books would have sad endings. Books like All the bright colors, The fault in our stars, We were liars and co. I hate reading those kind of books. I prefer books like Eleanor and Park, Holding up the Universe, A very large expanse of sea. Generally, light novels that'd just make me smile. A sun is also a star, books with breathtaking ending that'd make you feel things." She concluded, leaning back in her seat and I found myself leaning forward, hands on the desk separating us. I wondered fleetingly what it'd feel like to share her views. The books she hated were books I'd consider brutally honest and the books she liked

June lunged for Dante, catching his sleeve as they both tumbled down into darkness. They didn’t fall into fire. They landed in a mountain of paper. June gasped, rolling onto the soft, dusty pile. She scrambled up, boots sliding across millions of pages. When she looked around, a sob escaped her. The pit stretched as far as she could see, crammed with old Golden Books, torn photographs, broken wooden spoons. “These are the failed versions,” Dante said softly. He picked up a photograph—him and June in a park, except the sun was a weird, neon green. “They’ve been trying to bake the ‘perfect’ story for ages. We’re just the latest screw-ups.”

"Yeah, I know. Perks of being a neighbourhood kid to the college. Anyways, I called you up again to tell you this. I gotta go. Bye!" "Bye!" I wished back and hung up. I spent the next couple of hours talking to my family and reading Cecelia Ahern's 'Perfect'. I was done reading 'Flawed' before I came here and started reading 'Perfect' yesterday morning. Honestly speaking, I was fond of 'Perfect' more than 'Flawed' because of many reasons but especially of one big solid reason: I shipped Carrick and Celestine more than I shipped Art and Celestine. I just loved the chemistry between Carrick and Celestine and that made me so addicted to the book.

she replied, “I can’t believe we are breaking history, a maid is marrying her boss.” “I don’t think anybody would believe that for you look nothing like a maid.” “But I was a maid.” “Was, but not anymore, you are my imperfect perfection,” he replied that she could only smile and wondered how can they be a perfection that is imperfect? Not getting her answer, she smiled more pronounced and listened to the priest, today is a very big day to her, a day she had looked forward to all her life with the man beside her. And she knew that just as his words ‘imperfect perfection’ confused her, so would their love confuse anyone who tries to ruin them.

Out of everyone, why did he have to be the one there that night? I mentally groaned. This was bad. This wasn't how I envisioned my internship to go. The employees of the Santiago enterprise had a reputation to uphold both at work and off duty because their actions represented the prestige of the firm. What would he even think of me? A drunk who just ends up in men's beds? I couldn't let one mistake of a night taint my entire image. That night never happened. I was not the careless girl he met that night. I was Aliya Martinez, the girl who worked hard to earn her place here.

“My Forever Love” I guess there was truth in the saying if life were perfect, it would be boring. I watched her walk towards Blake. She sat on his lap, weaved her hands around his neck, and kissed him on his lips. It was not just a kiss, she molded her mouth into him, and my eyes flicker, mouth open as I thought he answered that passionate kiss. I stopped breathing and felt my heart shatter into a million pieces. Do you know the feeling that you can hear them, but you seem to be far away? It was exactly what I was feeling right now. I didn’t know it was possible to have that extreme pain yet not feel it.

But she needed answers. --- The following morning, when Ethan was out gathering firewood, Lena took the opportunity to nose around the cabin. It was rustic but comfortable, with modern amenities blended in very unobtrusively with the natural surroundings. In the study, she encountered a bookshelf containing novels and travel books. Among them, there was a book that stood out: The Art of Deception. It did not match the other books. She became interested and pulled out the book from the bookshelf. Leafing through the book, she let a piece of crumpled paper fall out, wafting towards the floor.

Tomorrow morning she would wash her face and put on some moisturizer and that would be that. Bedtime reading. No novels tonight. Tonight it would be her latest brokerage statement and how she could make things right for Hazel, for the Society group and possibly herself. She trembled with guilt and humiliation when she recalled her daughter's tone and the expression on her face. That had to be right up there with the moment when she'd confronted her husband about his infidelities and his so what attitude.

However, I did not hand it to her. Gritting my teeth, I pretended to lose my grip and spilled the boiling water all over her legs. I figured she would not be able to hold back and jump up in rage. I closed my eyes and silently counted, 'One, two, three...' Time passed, yet I did not feel the familiar fists crashing down on me. I opened my eyes and saw that Claire had not moved. Instead, she was still sitting perfectly upright in her wheelchair. Not only was she not angry at me, but she looked at me apologetically. "I'm so sorry, honey... I didn't catch it properly and spilled the water. Honey, did you burn your hand? That water looked really hot."

Oh, well, and the second, I kind of didn't pay attention in my classes today and I might have been absent-minded at work, stealing some time to myself to read and complete the second book breezily. The third and last book was the most complicated because of how high the stakes were, and let's not forget the numerous mind-fucks and plot twists. It was compelling, addictive and thought-provoking. "I must be boring you to death then," the proximity between my face and her mouth was sudden, eliciting a shriek from me. "Iris!" I snapped, sitting up. Her flawlessly made-up face had me furrowing my brows a little. She was all glammed like she had somewhere to be.