Romans & histoires In Her Book

Kael's POV But then I remember something: the bookstore she wandered into while I was buying her clothes. The way her entire body changed when she picked up that gardening book. The pure contentment I felt through our bond—the first real happiness I’d ever sensed from her. She likes books about herbs. About plants and their medicinal properties. Of course! She’s an herbalist, but most of the equipment she carries is broken. I’ve seen the cracked mortar, the rusted tools, the makeshift containers she uses to store what little she can gather.

The paper felt like it was burning my fingertips. Hera. A woman's name. She had loved him. She had craved him just like I did, and he had shut her out. He had said no to her, too. If he hated her, why keep the book? Why hide it like a holy relic? My skin felt tight, a feverish curiosity itching under the surface. I looked toward the library door. I needed to know if every book on those shelves held a piece of her. I was halfway to my feet when the heavy click of the front door echoed through the hallway.

What knowledge had been passed down through generations, waiting to be discovered by eager hands? But before I could ponder further, a voice echoed from the depths of the book itself, its tone ethereal and haunting. "I see you have met her," it said, and I couldn't suppress a shiver of unease. What did the book mean by "met her"? And who was it referring to?

She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small, leather-bound book—cream-colored, the title embossed in soft gold script—The Perfect Wife: Grace in the Eyes of Society. She extended it toward me with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You should read it,” she said simply. “Memorize the key chapters, practice the rest. It’s a useful guide. All Kingston wives have studied it. Including me.” I didn’t move, just stared at the damn, thick book.

She was, instead, staring at a book on the top shelf. The Psychopathology of Everyday Life" by Sigmund Freud. I held the book before she could, and she froze. It was only momentarily as she leaped to her feet, snatching it from me. I hadn't thought she was going to do that. I was impressed. She didn't strike me as someone who'd be into sport, but her jump was high enough to get her a lot on the short jump sport. If there was anything like that. "That's mine." Her voice was small, but I heard her.

“You might hurt someone.” The question to ask was not who she was but how she had come so close to me and I had not sensed her presence until she spoke. Even now, if I was not looking at her, it would be as though she was not there at all. She walked slowly to me, uncaring for my scrutiny and looked over my shoulder at the textbook on the table. “Rowan Peters. Good book,” she said, nodding. She had not needed to check to know the author of the book. “Must have read this twelve years ago.”

"So tell me about the cafe." She got up and went somewhere and came back with a book. She sat and said, "I didn't know I had this talent inside me until I found this book." And pointed to the book and continued, "When I first tried, it came out better than I expected. And I started bringing recipes out of this book." "Can I have a look at it?" When she passed me the book, I opened it to see the handwritten recipes inside it. And it's Hailey's handwriting.

Goddess, was she going to kill me with knowledge? “I can hear those wheels turning,” she teased me, pushing me down into one of the chairs. I watched as she went to a safe in the corner of the room. From there, she pulled a book, and brought it over to me. It was the one that had Ziyah’s prophesy in it. The one that was supposed to be completely top-secret.

Both were really awkward at each other at first but when they found out that both were reading the same book, they eventually got a comfortable to talk at each other. “So, you also read that book-” “Yeah, I got into it after a friend of mine recommended it to me.” “Isn’t it a great book.” “Yeah, I got hooked on it after reading the first chapter.” “bla-bla-bla” Both continued to talked to each other and enjoyed their conversation. “I was feeling an awkward atmosphere growing between our table so I was gonna try to start a conversation but when you brought out your book, I was just surprised to see a person reading it.” The girl said.

Why does she always look so at peace around sad stories? “Oh—right,” I stammered when I realized she was waiting for an answer. “It’s, uh, The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want us to find it first?” I shook my head. “Why?” she pressed, but I only shrugged. Rolling her eyes, she placed another hardcover on my growing pile. “Let’s go check if they have a cart.” My eyes widened. “How many are you planning to buy?”