Through His Eyes Mga Nobela at Kwento

He halted, too stiff, too rigid, his eyes gawking at my curls discernably, the flicker in his eyes made my steps falter as well and I stood before him. He rose his fingers, “fourteen, fifteen…” his eyes judging the entirety of my existence, he lifted his free hand continuing the count, “sixteen and seventeen,” still looking at me evidently, “you’re these many fingers old?” and nearly yelled, his gaze fixated on me, almost penetrating, as if he could see right through me, an expression I haven’t seen before, as if his eyes were almost wet at the brink of breaking out into a lava of tears, a raw emotional eruption that surpassed my imagination.

Taller, sharper, somehow more…present. At first, he didn’t seem to notice me, his focus locked on the crowd still unfolding around us. But then, slowly, his gaze shifted and his eyes met mine. There was a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity? Amusement? Whatever it was, it lasted only a moment before his face returned to its unreadable, stoic mask. "Are you blind?" He asked, his voice deep and smooth, a touch of amusement lacing his words. I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes.

I feel light touch, I open my eyes, and to my surprise, I see my hands, I start to panic, What's going on? I see someone approaching me, a man with rich grey hair, he stops in front of me and snaps his fingers, my eyes widen "Father?", he smiles at me, my eyes gather tears and I hug him "Oh father, I was so scared, I thought I lost you" tears freely flow down my face, I use my hand to wipe the tears, I wear a bright smile " I can see your face, isn't that great! I don't know what's happening" He touches my face and kisses me on my forehead, suddenly everything becomes blurry "What's this?, why can't I see you anymore?" I stretch my hands "Father!, father!" I cried out "Father!...."

It leaves scars in the mind that no balm can ever remove. Sean was already standing by the partition wall when I looked up. I could tell through his soft gaze that he heard a lot of what I said. He slowly walked towards me, keeping my eyes in his gaze. My tears ran faster when I felt his sympathy in that expression, making me throw myself right away into his arms.

I turn my eyes away from him, afraid that if I look into those eyes, he would see right through me. “In that entire disguise, do you know what I see?” He asks again, but I don’t look at him. “I see someone who’s simple, I see someone that will help whenever she needs to, I see someone who is kind, but the whole world doesn’t realize it.” “Don’t talk to me like that. I am neither of those things.” I say, but he grabs my hand and turns my chin, so that my eyes are looking at him, I was right. He can see through me.

He owned it. Dark hair, slicked back but rebelliously messy at the edges, like he didn’t bother to tame it because the world already bowed to him anyway. His jawline was sharp enough to cut through silence. A small scar sat beneath his left eye, faint but telling—a story I knew better than to ask about. And his eyes—dear goddess—his eyes weren’t the kind you look into. They were the kind that look through you. Piercing gray, cold steel under sunlight. The kind that saw too much, too fast, and left you wondering what part of yourself he’d already stolen.

His focus remained fixed ahead, as though he could see her through the cameras, through the screens, through whatever distance separated them. His eyes lifted slightly, his expression raw, vulnerable, stripped of everything but truth. His entire being seemed to reach out to her in that moment. His eyes were lifted, as if speaking to her directly through the lens of every camera in that room.

Behind me, through the closing door, I could feel his eyes on my back. *******

The magic in him shone through his emerald eyes. But Chris wouldn't give up just yet. Not like that.

Hunter 6: A Gun for a Hunter I’m looking into his eyes, which are filled with longing. As much as I would like to speak, I don't seem allowed to, so all I can do is stare at him. I can’t help but close my eyes as his warm palm reaches for my cheek. Being held by him in this way feels very therapeutic. “You seem real, and I hope you are.” I opened my eyes as soon as I heard his hoarse and desperate voice. His face caught my attention; it was devoid of hope and loneliness. I can’t stand to watch him like this, his eyes pleading and in anguish. Seeing him suffer bothered me in some way.