Diary Buku の小説・ストーリー

The key smoothly entered the hole, with a slow twist, I heard a 'click' sound, and the drawer opened. My heart raced with joy; inside were four books. I took one and looked inside. Clearly, it was a handwritten diary. Next, I read and studied all four diaries. Only then did I understand who instructed me to write Alex's biography. And the real purpose of this book was to be made with secrecy about the names of places and notes for the authenticity of the biography.

“Hello, I’m Mariana, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Please don’t be mad at Marylin, she’s been nothing but an angel to me, if it weren’t for her, I’m not sure I would have been able to return home.” “No problem,” Dana said. “I can never be mad at her for helping you.” “Thank you!” Mariana went in again and returned shortly with a small book in her hand. She gave it to me and before I knew it, the little book began to expand and increase in size until it was just the right fit for me. It had the words ‘DIARY’ written in front of it. “It’s a magic diary,” she told me. “I’m sorry,” I told her. “I’m going to have to refuse this, I could never keep track or even keep a diary.”

Something inside caught my eye. Curiosity stirred, subtle but undeniable. I pulled the drawer open. Inside, among scattered papers and pens, lay a book. I reached for it, my movements slower now, more deliberate. On its cover, faint but unmistakable, was a single word. A word that made something deep in my chest tighten. Diary. And for reasons I could not fully explain, I already knew. Whatever was written inside… Would change everything.

Shayla understood her and didn’t say any words. When Bria was gathering all her belongings inside her drawer, a not familiar book caught her attention. It was in the corner of her drawer and it has a purple and pink cover. She got curious about what’s inside, so she flipped the book and realized it was a diary. And it belongs to her mom. “Journey with my little Gummy bear, Sabria Verone.” was written on the cover. At that moment, she felt the presence of her mom. She turned the page led her to the very first day her mom wrote on the dairy.

The first image nearly knocks the air out of my lungs. A woman. Beautiful. Fierce. Eyes sharp with intelligence and sorrow. Blue fire dancing effortlessly in her hands like it belongs there. And in her arms. A baby. My breath goes shallow. That is not a legend. That is a memory. I turn the page. And freeze. This is not a history book. It’s a diary. Handwritten entries. Personal notes. Dates. Emotions bleeding through ink. Why would a woman’s diary be locked away in the forbidden section of the academy library.

I cussed, holding my forehead. "This can't be it! There has got to be more!" I couldn't wrap my head around why anyone would lock a series of books inside a heavy safe and bury it. Frustrated, I picked up a hardback notebook, snapped the straps, and opened it. A cursive handwriting came into view. There were dates on each page of the book. I read the first page. "October 19, 1999. Entry for Research 16." "Dear diary,

After hesitating for a while, he flipped open the diary to take a peek. It was a typical diary with many scribbles and writings. Gently flipping through the pages, he read the first few lines on the first page of the diary. 12-10-2020 So the doctor asked me to try to keep a journal and write down my personal feelings. Don’t know how that’s going to help but here goes nothing. Getting confused, Alex flipped through the pages, skimming through similar scribbles of how his day went and how his life was going in general. One thing was constant through the pages and it was how he kept on mentioning Alex.

Once we settle in and she seems more calm, I give her a gentle reminder that she and I still need to talk about what happened the previous night. She sets her burger down and brushes the crumbs off of her fingers. “Hold on, let me get my book.” She climbs off the stool and hops off to her room. She comes back quickly with a ragged, thick blue book with bits and pieces of papers sticking out of it and climbs back onto the stool, facing me. “I'm so glad Mom put this in my bag. She remembered how important it is to me. This isn’t just a notebook, Keller. It’s kind of like a diary, I guess, or a journal? I’ve been trying to figure out the difference. And depending on the website you refer to, I

July 2nd, 1943- First Diary Entry. I hate writing and I don't know why granny gave me a diary for my birthday I mean it's a book, I can't even eat it and it's not even cute. Anyway, granny said I would know what to write about when it was time but I think the crazy is getting to her.

It was bound in dark red leather, the surface cracked and worn, stamped with the private seal of the late King. My breath caught in my throat. I pulled the book out and brought it over to the stone table where Jiji had the lamp. "Did you find it?" Jiji asked, leaning over my shoulder. "It's his personal diary," I whispered, my fingers carefully turning the brittle, yellowed pages.