Tahereh Mafi Books Novels & Stories

Ashly was sitting alone in the meeting room. She was so sunk into the book she was reading. It's been a month since Monika left, and it's not like Ashly didn't feel bad when Monika cried in front of her, but what she can do She never likes to share her things with others. And it's not a bad thing because, apparently, her husband is also the same. Well, talking about now, she was reading a book called "The History of the Mafia Kingdom", when Zia entered the room.

He sat on the couch as Lilly went to get coffee for both of them. As she went to take coffee in the kitchen, he took a look at the living room. He saw pics of his childhood, school days, college days, pics with friends but he didn't see the pics of her family. He smiled seeing the pics and even thought about her parents but then he let go of that thought and his gaze shifted to the little shelf of books beside the window which shows the little garden. He went through the books and found that she loves to read romantic novel books.

Sabeerah brought them out one by one. Muslim Girl and If I Speak by Umm Zakiyyah, The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides, Three Daughters Of Eve by Elif Shafak, On Black Sister's Street by Chika Unigwe, And Then There Was None by Agatha Christie, A Time To Kill by John Grisham and finally, A History Of The Wives Of Prophet Muhammad by Umam Kahn. She picked up the last book which was actually a journal and tucked in its side were plack pencils with bookish scribbles on them.

[Don’t waste any more time. The lid lifted with a soft click, and I felt my breath stop. Inside, everything was arranged with care, like tools laid out before a procedure. Pastel colors. Smooth surfaces. Things meant for pleasure—yet my hands trembled as if I’d uncovered a weapon. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Fernando murmured. I dropped the lid, my lips quivering. He wasn’t just a sly old man, but a creepy one too. “W-what are these?”

he smiled mischievously, humour in his expression, and she felt a sudden warmth spread through her, seeing a side to him that was endearing. “What is your favourite book Genevieve ?” he asked her as he put a piece of bread and cheese in his mouth. “I tend to read books on ghosts and things like that.” He laughed, “Why?” “I guess it’s the mystery of the unknown, the fascination of whether it’s true or not.” “I see what you mean. Everyone loves a good mystery don’t they? Especially to things that we can never really know the truth about.” He looked at her perceptively. Again she felt as though his words held hidden meaning and guilt flooded her at the thought of her true intentions.