Man Reading A Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

I close the door behind me, I am marveled at the amount of books that are here. I pick out a few books to read and walk towards the couch to take a seat. I place the books on the couch and take the first book. After ten minutes of reading, I am startled by a voice coming from the opposite direction of the room. "I see you are enjoying Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, quite an interesting book. My favorite actually" the strange man said coming out of the shadows, taking an old dusty lamp that was placed on the table. "Who are you?" I ask, glaring at him as he came closer.

I deserve this moment of peace after doing such tiresome things. “Ah, I would love to have some chamomile tea,” said the man with the most beautiful pair of lilac eyes. He snapped his fingers after pondering what to do while reading the YA book he took from his bookshelf—he remembered buying the book from a bookstore in the human realm. On cue, a soft knock resonated inside the serene and bright room. “Come in,” said the man. His voice was light that brought the servant from the other side of the double doors to be flustered just by hearing his voice.

Walls covered in centuries of art—paintings, tapestries, sculptures preserved with impossible care. At the far end. A chair. Simple wood. Old. And the man sitting in it, reading. He looked young. Mid-thirties. Dark hair. Pale skin. Eyes shifting between black and deep violet. He was reading. Didn't look up when we entered. Didn't look up as we crossed the enormous room. Didn't look up when we stopped ten feet away. Marcus waited. Kade waited. I watched. Then finally—unhurried, unconcerned—he closed the book. Set it aside.

The more he read the passages, the more he sensed the goodwill of the author towards the natives. The man who entered the book shop stopped by Lin and reached out for the thick book on the second row of the book shelf, but after a few minutes, the man put it back on the shelf. That time, Lin heard the man asking, “Do you have the book by Fielding Hall?” Lin noticed that the man was in his mid forty, wearing thick rimmed glasses, with curly hair. The man wore a short sleeve blue shirt and a pair of jean pants. The man was also carrying a thick book under one’s arm. It seemed like that the man was a bookworm.

“So, if you don’t want me to come there, you know what to do.” I swallow and nod. Flipping through the pages, and strangely, I come to read through the pages. Massimo doesn’t have collection of fiction or entertaining books, only on finance and business, but this one is quiet interesting. It happens to pique my interest. I spend another half-an-hour or so reading it, when my eyes start to drop. A yawn leaves my lips and I stretch my legs. I look at him. He’s on the bed, one hand behind his head, the other scrolling lazily through his phone. The lamp’s warm glow catches on the scars along his forearm and knuckles, on the sharp planes of his shoulders.

A slender figure sat on the broad sofa. The man’s legs were crossed as he leaned against the sofa lazily. He was wearing a white shirt with the top two buttons loose and his collar left slightly open. His sleeves were rolled halfway up his arms. There was a pair of gold-rimmed glasses sitting on his straight nose. His eyes were lowered in concentration at the thick book in his hands. His attention was entirely on it. The man had handsome features that screamed perfection and a strong, domineering presence that struck fear in those around him.

* * * Tyler "Dude, are you reading?" I looked at Hunter who stood beside me against the wall with a book in his hand. I honestly thought there was nothing more surprising than this. I knew he could read, but I just thought he was more of a picture-person than words-person since he usually read Playboy. The book in his hand, however, wasn't a magazine; it was actually a real book. A thick one, I observed. I moved closely without making any noises then took the book from right under his nose. "Man, give it back! I'm not finished!" Hunter crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked at me annoyed.

She offered a polite nod to the librarian and slipped into a quiet, secluded corner. He sat alone, a man with close-cropped hair, his lean frame casually draped in a fitted gray shirt. His tattoos caught her eye first, intricate designs winding up his arms. Her fingers twitched with the urge to trace the patterns, to feel the texture of his skin beneath. His focus was locked on a book, and from the cover, it was about body painting, "for dummies." Cute, she thought. She considered leaving, unwilling to intrude on what appeared to be an almost zen moment. But then, her gaze caught a glimmer of silver: a name etched on an ID tag clipped to his book.

There he was, sitting down lazily on one of the chairs with his left hand spread out and the right one holding a book which he was reading as his full focus was on it, that I wasn't even sure if he noticed my arrival. He was wearing a white long-sleeve T-shirt, the sleeves of the shirt were rolled up to the elbow, showcasing his firm muscles, and his tie was loosely fixed, I could see his suit jacket neatly folded on the arm of the closest chair to him. I couldn't see his face properly as it was seriously buried in the book and just when I was coming back to my senses, I got caught, "Love what you see?"

Anya De Luna POV A shipment of books came in, and I’m busy unpacking them when a man comes into the store. I’ve seen him here before, and usually, he likes to check the thriller section. “Morning,” he greets before he starts to browse the shelves. “Morning. Let me know if I can help you find anything.” “Thanks.” My eyes flick to where Vincent is coloring in a picture of an elephant before I continue to unpack the books. Every now and then, I check what the man is up to before glancing at Vincent.