I love the genre but I'm still recovering from when I picked up fourth wing 🤦🏼‍♀️ thinking it was YA. It's hard to find a romance books that is mature enough yet not spicy.

Hello everyone, do you have any classical novels recommendations?

This is THE perfect spot to share your Romance reads and discover new ones. Feel free to drop your recommendations here! Get as passionate as you'd like, we'd all love to hear it! Have fun you guys ;)

Hey everyone! It’s time to pick our book for May’s Monthly Read! Since we’ve decided on mystery/thriller as the genre, I’d love to hear your recommendations. 📖 How it works: - Comment your book recommendation below (and a quick note on why you’re suggesting it—it’s optional but always fun!). - Interact with the recommendations you like most (leave a like and/or reply). If one book gets the most interactions, that’ll be our winner! 🎉 But if we end up with a few favorites, we’ll do one last poll to choose between the top picks. Let’s find the perfect mystery/thriller to kick off our May Monthly Read! Can’t wait to see your recommendations!

So I want to write a book, and I'm working on it right now. I want to know what ya'll think about the first chapter (it's not done, that's why it might seem short). It might be cringe, but if anything needs to be tweaked, please let me know! Here: One Griffith “Mama! Papa! Please don’t leave me!” I burst into tears. I shake my head, not believing anything. My parents lie on the ground, blood splattered all over their clothing with a piercing hole through where their hearts were. I grasp their hands while my tears drop onto them. Their eyes are cold and white, their heads lolled to the side. “Please…” I collapsed onto them, still crying. I suddenly jolted out of my sleep, sweat drenching my plain, dirt smeared shirt and my rough, cardboard bed. Great. My thin blanket is now soaked and stinky—not like it was ever clean. My eyelids droop, but I force them open. A headache crashes into my temples like a thunderstorm as I crawl out of bed. Sweat runs down my bare back as I strip my wet shirt off. I use a ragged towel to wipe the warm droplets off my skin. I then grab my only other pair of wrinkly clothes that are bunched up in a trash bag, and change into them. I grab a cracked mirror I found in the dump and check myself. My deep, aqua blue eyes pierce into the mirror as my curly, walnut brown hair falls down onto my forehead, just above my eyebrows. I left my wet clothes hanging, so they could dry. I then put on my muddy, worn out shoes and get out of my crappy tent. I take my usual seat outside my tent and put a red plastic cup in front of me, along with a sign that says, “Please donate. I lost my parents and I need money to support myself. Thank you!” I don’t really know why there’s a ‘thank you’ part because I can’t say thank you to crap. The only donation I’ve got this week was a rusty copper ruhe. How am I supposed to live off a copper ruhe? I lost my parents when I was only six years old. I’m now seventeen, surviving by myself on the streets. I don’t clearly remember what happened, except for when vivid dreams reveal more and more. All I know is that their hearts were pierced and I cried so much that I collapsed on top of them. Whoever murdered my parents must die for making me suffer. Losing parents is one of the worst things that could happen to you when you’re a child.