Reading Books Aesthetic Novels & Stories

- Crystal's POV - I pushed open the door to the study. As soon as I entered, the odor of books filled the room. Five large bookcases stuffed with books on philosophy, economics, military, and management. Every book looks old. I took down a few random books and saw handwritten annotations in each one. It seems Arthur could become the most famous Alpha by virtue of his hard work and erudition. Seeing so many books made my heart settle down a little. I've heard that the books one has read will melt into his bones, blood, and thoughts.

Maybe I shouldn't even pick up the latter just to piss him off. Sense came back to me as my anger started to subside. I had to read the paper, I had to finish my work. I wouldn't let Dr Reynolds get in the way of my education. As I started reading, completely neglecting lunch, an overwhelming sadness came over me. As I read an excerpt from Jacques Bousquet's Mannerism: The Painting and Style of the Late Renaissance, no words were registering in my mind. It was as if my eyes were only looking at the paper and not reading it. No matter how hard I tried, my mind kept taking me to his apartment, to his hands, to his warm embrace.

I just let him do it I don’t know how to explain it but I am comfortable with it Here we are inside the bookstore. I am just following North wherever he goes, then he suddenly stopped on a book section; it is the psychological book section He didn’t let go my hand while looking at the book. He started looking each of them; he might be looking for something. “The books, do they have differences?” I asked “Yes, a lot. There are books that are detailed and has a certain topic of research and that is the book that I am searching” I nodded repeatedly, because he didn’t let go my hand I started looking at the books. The problem is I started to feel headache when I looked at it

Ace explained before he grinned at me. I knew immediately that he was being absolutely sarcastic especially when he spoke about the books that lined the shelves. His collection of books related to our field of work, art, and creativity, seemed very exhaustive and included some rare books that were hard to get in hardcover as well. I stood in front of the bookshelf as I admired it. “These books are amazing. I should steal some of them sometimes…” I said with a laugh. “Please do…” he replied casually. “Which one would you recommend?” I asked.

The publishing house was called Rootword Press — small, independent, Lagos-based, with a catalogue that Adaeze spent an evening reading through with the careful attention she brought to things she wanted to understand properly before forming an opinion about. What she found impressed her. Not because the books were famous — they were not, at least not in the way that famous meant commercially ubiquitous. But because they were good. She could tell, reading the descriptions and the excerpts available online, that whoever had chosen these books had chosen them with taste and with genuine conviction about what they were worth rather than what they would sell. There was a quality to the catalogue

"Look at this font instead. Do we prefer the minimalist serif or the bold modern for The Era Society cover page?" ​"Minimalist serif," Bianca answered from her desk, her eyes fiercely focused as she aligned our core budget spreadsheets. She hadn't looked up in two hours. "It keeps the high-society aesthetic. If we're pitching to the student administration board tomorrow afternoon, the presentation needs to look like a luxury lookbook, not a standard campus flyer." ​I forced a tight smile, dragging my eyes away from my silent phone. "Right. Cream, espresso, gold. We present a lifestyle, not a club."

It's beautiful inside here. All the bookshelves are filled with books to the rim. From science fiction to mental healing books. They have everything here. I pull Ryder by his hand dragging him to an aisle. I immediately stick my head into a book reading the first page. I tend to read the first page after reading what's it's about, on the back, to see if I would really like it. I can see Ryder from the corner of my eye-grabbing a book and placing it down 10 seconds later.

The air is thick with the musty scent of paper and knowledge, and the gentle hum of whispered conversations and rustling pages creates a soothing background noise. The shelves themselves are a marvel, towering above him like sentinels of wisdom. Books of every shape and size are stacked neatly, their covers a riot of colors and fonts, each one beckoning him to explore its contents. The spines of the books seem to whisper secrets, their titles and authors a testament to the vast expanse of human knowledge and creativity.

She reached over the stacks with a scraggy hand and picked up a plain-covered book, handing it to Adea. Adea flipped it over to look at the spine, which showed the title, Pride and Prejudice. “Oh, no thank you,” Adea said with a kind smile as she handed the book back. “I don’t do much reading. My sister on the other hand-” She made a gesture toward Lyda, who was still flipping through the pages of one of the thickest books Adea had ever seen. “Ah!” the old woman exclaimed. “Fascinated by religious texts, my dear?”

The intentional neglect of this corner was a deliberate choice, a testament to the charm of the untouched and the allure of secrets waiting to be unraveled. Settling into a plush chair, Joseph cradled the book in his hands. The worn cover spoke of countless hands that had sought its wisdom, and the yellowed pages whispered tales of eras long past. As he opened the book, the fragrance of aged parchment wafted through the air, creating an olfactory tapestry that intertwined with the silent narratives within.