Novel Diary Of Canva Novels & Stories

I could not stand the sadness I felt. My eyes turned to see the book on the table. The book with a pink cover and written Violen's Diary is covered. I was curious and opened the book to find out what Violen wrote. Some of the pages I read told about how Violen went through his day. Violen's resentment and anger were contained in the book. I didn't think Violen wrote a diary. Until I was stunned to see the title 'Special Husband Noah.' I sat on the sofa and read Violen it, more like a letter for me written by Violen.

If she was Korean, I might still have the chance but hello! Mabuti na lang Senior didn’t wrote her diary on Japanese, she gives me the vibe of being an otaku dahil she have the same title and name of a famous romance anime! I could help but silently face palm my forehead. Senior, what were you thinking… I could help but lampooned. I took a breath and started reading the diary. It was a total of three pages.

He answered anyway. “What do you want, Tate?” Jaxon snapped, not trying to hide his disdain. “There’s a courier guy walking toward you right now. Just read whatever he gives you,” Tate said and ended the call. Jaxon smirked when he saw the courier coming closer. The man handed him Kai’s old diary from college days, bowed, and left. “Strange,” Jaxon muttered. Jaxon flipped open the diary, his eyes catching a page dated: 2022 He read the words slowly, letting each sentence sink in.

Dear Diary, Hi. It's Gabriella. This is the first time I've kept a diary so excuse me if this turns out awkward. I decided to write because something weird happened to me last week - until now actually - and I badly needed someone to confide in since I don't have any friends.

I looked outside through his window and realize he was still outside, i quickly pick his DIARY and open it, i ignore so many chapters and then i glanced through the date we both met "Diary, i know it has been long since i have written to you but i met this crazy girl and believe me i have never come across a girl more crazier than her " Gosh!!! this guy is really annoying How dare he call me a crazy girl?? I skipped some part but then i stopped I shouldn't be reading his diary, it is quite bad Author's POV CJ was feeling uncomfortable with Kayla following him, he wish it was Anna who was actually following him

The sides of the pages of the diary crumble in my hands and are reduced to ashes. The sun has come out and I start to sweat. I look at the diary. It has nothing written on the cover, except the year—2010—which is faded. There is no auto in sight. I sit on the pavement and flip through the contents. It is nearly full. The handwriting is not the best, but it is neat and deliberate. The first few pages are damaged beyond recognition. The top-right corners of the pages keep crumbling into charcoal.

Dear Diary; What a ridiculous thing to do! I have never kept a diary in my entire life. Why now? I will tell you why… I have too much to say and no one to say it to… so here it goes. My name is Zinnia, full name… that I will keep to myself. Thank you very much! I am still in bed, whilst writing in this stupid diary, I am worried about the day ahead. Dawn has not broken yet, and I wish it would never break.

Dear Diary, I’ve decided to keep a book recording all my days here at High Hill, should make pleasant reading in the future! Well, let’s start with the basics. I’m Gabriel; surname’s irrelevant as I’d rather not link myself to my parents. I’m 15; average height, wavy mousey brown hair, hazel brown eyes, and I’ve just arrived on my first day here. My parents sent me here because apparently public school isn’t good enough for me. But the reason they don’t know is that my parents would rather not have a son like me around them, snobbish twats. I’m just not good enough for them because I’m gay... Oh yes, did I not mention, I’m gay...and single... and full of a house with lots of boys in it. Oh b

Joe's face, Ivy's words, the blinding lights of that celebration banquet–they all began to blur, as though fading into the distance. With my very first paycheck, I bought myself a brand-new set of paints. I painted rocks, seagulls, and children running across the sand. Slowly, the girl I used to be–the one who once dreamed of attending the Rhode Island School of Design–seemed to awaken again from deep within me. The bookstore had a special regular. Every day at exactly three in the afternoon, he would show up. He always sat on the sofa by the window, ordered a black coffee, and opened his sketchbook. He would stay there the entire afternoon.

Andrew looked for newspapers and came back with one printed two days earlier. At a table near the fountain a man sold notebooks and pens. His face was dark from the sun, thin, with a nose that looked recently broken. He tapped a cigarette on the table while he talked. “Diaries,” he said. “Blank. Good paper.” “Old ones?” I asked. He hesitated, then reached under the table. He laid out a small book wrapped in brown paper. “One left. The rest burned.” I opened it. The first page carried a single word written neatly in blue ink: Santuzza. The rest were blank.