The book, like a face, is easily judged by its cover which serves its purpose to entice you into taking a peek into the mind of another. The stories are for nothing if there is nobody to listen.
Books are like people, we are pages being written and chapters waiting to start. Our stories are looking for others interested in reading them—in reading us. Like a book cover, our faces are the first thing another sees and what draws them to us.
In a society that values the material and the visible, what happens when an every-day man of convention meets a girl who chooses to defy the norm and instead embrace what is inside?