Smiling Man Novels & Stories

I introduced myself as well, and I saw him plastered a smile with those thin red lips. This man has a cold expression at first, but when he smiles, you can clearly say how handsome he is with that perfect smile, which will remove the negative first impression you had of him. He has shiny black hair, fair white skin, a straight nose, and a pair of black eyes that also smile simultaneously as his thin red lips do. "It's my pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hernandez," he replied, and I quickly pulled back my hand from the handshake and gave him a forced a smile before focusing on my food.

I jump, giggling. “What are you doing?!” The man abruptly opens the door. I thought the room was soundproof. This man, indeed, doesn’t know joy; while his face creases and his brows are raised, he strides toward me. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. The man shook his head and looked around. I saw a smirk on his face. Is he smiling? “Are you smiling?” I can’t help but ask. He looked away, suddenly putting his hand into my mouth and pointing his index finger at his lips. I raised my brow and gulped down. He is unbelievable!

Standing right there, aggressively chopping a mountain of vibrant bell peppers and vegetables, is an incredibly handsome young man. He’s wearing a casual, slouchy linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, looking completely at home. The second our eyes lock, the man stops his knife work, lifts a hand, and waves, offering me a remarkably polite, dimpled smile. "Hey there!" he calls out, his voice smooth and carrying a faint, charming accent. Nicholas glides over to the kitchen island, a distinct, deeply affectionate glow lighting up his entire face as he loops an arm casually around the man’s waist.

A few people walk by, but no one is close enough to help. Just my bad luck again. And as if one person isn't enough, another man steps out of the truck. He has silver teeth, and a cigarette is stuck between them. “Come with us,” he repeats. “We’ll make you happy.” “I’m sorry,” I say weakly. “I don’t have time for this.” I try to walk away. But he suddenly grabs my hand and pulls me back. “Don’t be stupid,” he says. “We just want to make you smile. You’ll enjoy it.”

His hair is in a buzz cut style, full, noticeable eyebrows, long lashes, caramel skin tone, and a clean shave with a little mustache that makes you want to think about bed play. A dance to my favourite song, with an angelic man? I would love that. But who is this man? "May I?" He smiles cutely, ignoring how confused I look. He wouldn't bite. Just a dance, right? This could be just what I need, a dance to lift my mood.

“Smile.” Tristan gives me a look. “I am smiling.” “That's not a smile.” “It is.” “You look like you're attending a funeral.” The elderly man laughs. Tristan looks at me, then reluctantly gives the camera a more genuine smile. “There. Much better.” I take the picture and hand the phone back. The man looks at it and immediately smiles. “Beautiful.” He thanks us several times, and Tristan responds politely each time, even though I can tell he's ready to leave.

Veronica's eyes blinked, could not believe what she had just seen at this moment, continued to stare at the 185 centimetre-tall man who was staring at her while wearing a warm smile that could dazzle anyone's eyes. It was like she was now desperately trying to calm her noisy heart just because she saw the strange man's smile. That smile was strangely, far more dazzling than the smile Bianca always showed to all the women Bianca met. “Yes?” she said after managed to control herself, controlling her heartbeat, which was no longer as fast as before. “How do you know my name?”

Alive. The screen remained silent. The man remained silent. For several endless seconds he simply looked at them. As though studying the future. Then he smiled. A tired smile. A sad smile. A smile twenty-one years in the making. And finally spoke. "Hello, Amara." The room shattered.

There was silence. Absolute silence. There wasn’t any form of movement, Neither did anyone breathe. Nobody even blinked. Because the man on the screen, the one standing in the hallway of the building, had smiled. Not a random smile. Not a cold smile. Not Nathan’s terrifying smile. No. This smile looked completely different. Like the one of recognition. Like relief. Like he had been searching for something for years, and had finally found it. Amara stared at the screen.

"Yes, I'll be your girlfriend. Yes, you can take care of us. Yes, Adam. Yes." The smile that broke across his face was not the thin, self-deprecating smile of the past week. It was not the controlled, professional smile of the CEO or the polite, distant smile of the man at the reception in Zurich. It was a real smile — wide and unguarded and almost painful in its intensity. The smile of a man who had been holding his breath for a decade and had finally been allowed to exhale.