Older Man Younger Woman Books 소설 & 이야기

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. Taking a Chance on Love (The Youngers Book 2) Published by Blue Violet Press LLC Seattle, Washington Copyright © 2018 by Iris Morland Cover design by Resplendent Media All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of br

Aiden and I exchanged a nervous glance. We understood that our fateful encounter with the old blind woman would set us on a path filled with unknown and perilous possibilities. While she was busy doing her things, Aiden and I stood still before her, clutching the ancient book tightly in our hands. We knew she was blind, but there was something mysterious about her. As she opened the book to a random page, her fingers caressed each letter with a tenderness that belied her age. And then, unexpectedly, she let out a hearty laugh that echoed through the cave.

Approaching the man gathering the last books from the floor, each book seeming to carry a piece of the library’s soul, I notice that he is elderly, his presence radiating impressive calmness as if he is in no hurry to pick up the books. The man must be nearly seventy-five years old, with short, already white hair, only a few rebellious strands still wanting to remain gray. Despite his advanced age, his hair is full, a testament to his vitality. The man’s face bears the marks of time, wrinkles around his eyes, and lines of expression on his forehead, each line likely telling a story of laughter and worries lived. His eyes are a deep violet that enchants me in a way that seems to penetrate my

Its halls filled with proof. Proof that people could find one another again. Proof that stories mattered. Proof that hope traveled. The front doors stood open. As always. Inside, visitors moved quietly among photographs and letters. The Book of Arrivals rested near the entrance. I smiled. Then froze. Because someone was writing in it. An elderly woman stood beside the book. Travel-worn coat. Silver hair. Gentle eyes. A newcomer. An arrival. One more story. I watched quietly as she finished writing.

I got to one of the local villages and walk into their eatery, I was so tired and exhausted after being on the bus for so long, I took a seat and ordered for food and drink, I was waiting for my order to arrive while I was relaxing, and then on the small TV hanging on the wall, The news came on, it was a picture of Shitali and the subheading was that she is wanted by the police and whoever that can find her would be rewarded with ten thousand dollars, I know my older man is behind that. Tears brim my eyes knowing he's fighting for granny and I, gosh! I miss him so much, I can't wait for all of this to be over so I can go back to him and tell him how much I love and miss him, I don't care but

The old man lowered his gaze and smiled as the woman hit him with the bread bag. "Don't be a peeping Tom!..." She fell silent for a moment and nudged her husband with her elbow. "Be quiet; she's coming this way." "Excuse me... Could you watch this motorcycle while I make a couple of calls?" She looked at the couple, who held hands with some hesitation. The nostalgia of the moment caused her to burst into tears inevitably. "I tell you, the youth of today is a lost cause." The old man whispered to his wife. "She's either crazy or on drugs... Nowadays, everything has to do with drugs..." the old woman replied.

I replied, and we all lapsed into silence, mulling over ideas that we could suggest and work on. After work, I decided to check out the library Tray had told me about. It was a building that definitely needed a paint job badly. The paint was peeling off the walls, and the sign was lopsided. I walked in, and the bell rang. An old man and woman sat at the counter, reading different books, and they stared at me when I walked in. “Good day. Could you perhaps direct me to the section for old marriages?” I asked, and the lady pointed to the shelves in the far distance.

I resisted the urge to politely ask her not to touch the white jacket, and stood, plastering a robotic smile on my face. "Welcome, please have a seat." The older woman went around looking at my office and touching things as though we had both contributed to building it. As if they couldn't hear me, the younger woman kept gushing over the jacket and my style while the older one carried her shoulder high in arrogance, running her fingers through the hundreds of books on the shelve. Finally, she broke her silence, "A scholar, I see. You and I will get along well, we are alike. I have read The Little Mermaid. "

Her back was bowed low and the white of her hair reached the floors in her wake as she slowly came in front of Maru. “Hi, Grandma! Thank you for the treat earlier! How did you know my name?” Maru asked after the old woman stopped a foot from him and scrutinized his body from head to toe. He too, did the same. This grandmother’s height was only a few inches taller than him. Finally, someone my own size! Maru tried to hide his smile and failed. So he examined the room to avoid the searching gaze of the old woman. There was no decoration in the place except for the thick books that seem to occupy the entirety of the room. It was more of a library than anything else. Maybe this grandma was a col

But I’ll have to keep aside that argument for another time, right now, I need to know why Lucas was trusting me with the location of so many vulnerable humans. “Vandal Rudolf, did you say?” I whipped around in the direction of the voice and was surprised to find an old woman walking through the crowd towards us. Her body was bent forward from the waist up and she used a cane to support herself. She was so old she looked ancient; he body was covered in wrinkles and she seems to have lost almost all her teeth. Her voice held a tremor of age and her hair was completely white against pale, almost ashen skin. A young girl of about eleven or twelve with wildly curled black hair and deep brown eyes