“It was unlike anything Maaya had ever expected, and yet still so much like what she always dismissed as stories. There was no way real life could ever match the pages in her books; that was what she used to think. It was all artistry, all made up by wordsmiths who took a dull concept and turned into poetry, the hopeless ones lost in the throes of young love who though every first kiss was a sign of forever. There was no way a simple touching of lips could mean that much.”
Book:Ghost Walk