She stood before the glass display case in the literature hall, her fingertips brushing lightly along its edge.
Amaris had never imagined that the man who usually wore dark hoodies and spoke with such sharp, unfiltered honesty would turn out to be one of the most celebrated writers of recent years.
Inside the case lay pages of his original manuscripts, not printed copies, but handwritten drafts. The script was as bold and incisive as a blade, and faint coffee stains had seeped into the edges of the paper.
Silence is not a flaw, it is another kind of voice, loud enough to shake the world.
Her heart gave a soft, sudden jolt.
She glanced around, the hall was filled with visitors, yet Nolan was nowhere to be seen.
It was an exhibition dedicated to his work, yet he had not even bothe
